


Wayward Winds

by naivesilver



Category: Fantastic Beasts and Where to Find Them (Movies), Once Upon a Time (TV)
Genre: (also because his therapist is a bloody cricket), Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Blood and Injury, Canon Relationships, Crack Treated Seriously, Crossover, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, F/M, Families of Choice, Gen, Guilt, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Mary Lou Barebone is Her Own Warning, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, Past Abuse, Past Violence, Post-Canon, Scars, august won't find you a therapist but he WILL give you some admittedly dumb advice, fuck you joanne credence being gay IS relevant to the story
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-11-03
Updated: 2021-02-24
Packaged: 2021-03-09 02:00:21
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 9
Words: 33,212
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27366937
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/naivesilver/pseuds/naivesilver
Summary: Credence escapes the clutches of MACUSA, winds up in a strange town and makes some friends.Meanwhile, there's a storm brewing on the horizon, and Grindelwald might yet find someone willing to face off against him.(Or, the crack crossover fic that I got wayyyyy too invested in.)
Relationships: Credence Barebone/Original Percival Graves, Pinocchio | August Booth & Credence Barebone, Pinocchio | August Booth & Emma Swan
Comments: 19
Kudos: 17





	1. Lend a mending hand

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Xxxpokelad](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Xxxpokelad/gifts).



August finds the boy on a bright, unassuming spring morning.

Well. He doesn't exactly _find_ him - that would imply at least some degree of willingness, and the last thing August could be accused of doing right now is actively looking for trouble. He's had enough for four or five lifetimes, thank you very much.

No, what he does on that morning is step out of his father's workshop with a shopping list and a mind to stop at Granny's on the way back to see if there's any bagel left after rush hour, and then notice the young man standing a few feet away, gaze fixed on the busy street.

"Hey there" August calls out as he digs out his bike helmet. "Can I help you? Shop's not open today, but if you need any urgent repair my father can-"

He doesn't get to finish the sentence. The stranger turns around, with a franticness that brings to mind a deer caught under a pair of headlights, and then backs off suddenly as though struck by lightning.

As fast as it came, August's cheerfulness fades, turning into concern instead. "Are you okay? What's wrong?"

The boy all but growls at him, and he truly is a boy, in his mid-twenties at most. He stands out like a poppy in a field of rye, even to an eye trained to Storybrooke's more eccentric visitors - his clothes are tattered and old-fashioned, and he's sporting the most atrocious haircut August has seen in recent times, as if someone had actually tried to fashion his head after an upended bowl.

But that's not what makes August pause. Rather, it's the way the boy staggers backwards, his back pressing against the concrete wall as if fearing he's going to be attacked from behind. It's the look in his eyes, an even mixture of anger and fear that morphs his face into a inhuman mask.

It's the kind of look a frightened animal would have, and one with its foot caught in a trap to boot, so August puts down the helmet slowly, raising his hands to show they are empty. "Alright, alright. Sorry. Didn't mean to frighten you."

He advances just as slowly, one step after the other, trying to close the gap between himself and the other guy. "Are you hurt? Were you looking for someone?"

It's not hard to guess what might be happening there. The flow of people wandering into Storybrooke by mistake has slowed down to a trickle over time, but it's still easy to spot one. The boy has the same bewildered air to him as most of them used to, upon finding themselves catapulted into a strange, quaint little town.

August only hopes this one isn't on a murderous quest or something of the like. They've had a frankly obscene amount of _those_ already.

He doesn't get to find out, though. Once he's taken a couple of steps, he sees the boy start to tremble. It's a full-body shudder that causes him to fold on himself, almost, and August hurries forward, afraid he's going to pass out or something-

But he doesn't. Instead, he vanishes out of thin air, leaving August standing where he is, with his arms outstretched and a dumbfounded look on his face. There's no trace of the mysterious stranger, to the point August nearly believes he's hallucinated the whole thing - but then he notices the tendrils of smoke still hanging in the air, a thick haze that's nearly the same shade of dark grey as the boy's frayed suit.

He tries to touch it, mesmerized, but it dissipates as soon as his fingers brush past it.

August ruminates on what he's seen for a few days before he does anything about it.

The wisest course of action, of course, would be to forget about the boy entirely. He's seen strange things and stranger people a-plenty since he first rode into town, and experience has taught him that minding one's business is always the best choice, unless he wants to end up on the wrong end of an evil spell.

Problem is, that's not what August _is_. Traumatic experiences aside, he's always liked poking and prodding at things he doesn't know, force them to reveal their secrets. And there was something about that boy, about the look in his eyes, that rolls and rolls in his brain for hours on end.

August knows that look. He saw it in the mirror plenty of times, during the time he spent in the system.

So after the third night spent pondering instead of sleeping, he waves away any last bit of hesitation he has and does the most logical thing he can think of.

He goes to see Emma.

He brings coffee along, too, and if it's as much a favour to his friend as it is to convince himself that he's not making a big deal out of the whole thing, then nobody needs to know. Either way, he's fully rewarded when Emma brightens up visibly, sighing in relief once she sees him walk into her office.

"My knight in shining armour" she says, accepting the cup he offers. "There's not enough caffeine in me for the shit I have to put up with today."

"Always happy to be of service." August sits down in front of her, leaning against the back of his chair. There's no one around but them, and the silence in the room is almost deafening. "Where's your deputy?"

"Off breaking a bar fight. They called me first, actually, but Killian was _very_ eager to sort it out himself, so I let him have his fun."

"And got yourself stuck with the paperwork?"

Emma groans. "I wish it were all paperwork. I've been drowning in phonecalls all week - apparently there's trouble at school and they think I'm the one to blame for it instead of, you know, the people actually in charge of the school."

"Can't your mom do something about that?"

"She's trying, but she's not very helpful. Apparently she's on a blood feud with the janitor at the moment and can't focus on much else."

"Who, Mr One?" August muses, swirling his coffee around his cup. "That's weird. Nicest guy in that place, if you ask me. He didn't say much, but he had the darndest things in his inventory. I can't believe your mother of all people is fighting with him."

"You know, maybe I should put you in charge of dealing with school stuff, since you remember being a third grade student so well."

He pulls a face at her at that, and Emma responds in kind, in a show of extreme maturity on both their parts. Then she shakes her head, schooling her face back into its former stressed-but-professional expression, and says: "Is there a reason why you came in here? Because I'd love to stay and chat, but there'll be at least five more people asking after me in the next ten minutes, and no one's ever very patient around here."

"Actually, yeah." August's voice is forcibly light. He hopes she doesn't notice, because the last thing he wants is to make her nervous for what might be nothing substantial. "Have there been any new arrivals in the last few...I don't know, weeks? Any signs of trouble?"

"Not that I know of. The last batch of refugees from the other worlds came around ages ago, and they didn't ask for much besides a house and a job." Emma pauses, then frowns. "Wait, did _you_ see anything?"

Well, there’s nothing else to be done. He tells her about the boy, and watches as her stance changes, going from relaxed to alert. She massages her temples with her fingers when he’s done, as if trying to ward off an impending migraine. "I haven't heard anything about someone corresponding to that description. And you're sure you'd never seen him before?"

"A hundred percent. Of course, it's not that small of a town, so might be we just never met, but-"

"But someone in a funeral suit disappearing out of the blue would be hard not to notice, I know." Emma chews on it for a few seconds before sighing again, wearily. "I'll ask Regina if she's noticed anything. If this guy can do magic, then perhaps she can sense him somehow, because I sure haven't felt anything out of the ordinary."

"You think it's dark magic?"

"Who knows? At this point I'm not even sure if it would make things any worse." Emma puts her coffee down on the desk, then leans forward, looking right in his eyes. "Look, this is nothing official, for now. Maybe it's just someone's kid going through a rebellious phase and discovering they have magic. Still...Call me if you see him again, alright? Maybe we can sort out the mess before it happens, this time."

August avoids making a jape about the fact that she's taking for granted that there'll be a mess to sort out, because they both know how highly likely it is. This is Storybrooke, after all - most of their fellow citizens have grown used to dealing with supernatural emergencies on a weekly basis.

He nods, instead, and stands up to leave. "Alright. I'll keep an eye out for you."

Emma grins briefly. "Don't you always?"

That brings a smile to his face, and he's still smiling when he steps out of the building, a couple minutes later.

The good feeling lasts just about enough for him to get back home.

In fact, he's chewing on the matter at hand again by the time he sets out to make lunch. His father picks up on his mood almost immediately, and quietly tries to take over, all while muttering something about being there to listen if there's any problem.

August lets him fuss and putter awkwardly around the kitchen without complaint. He knows Geppetto still feels some semblance of guilt for all his son went through, well-deserved or not, and that the old man is only trying to make up for it in the precious few ways he knows. And he appreciates it, really - it's better than nothing, and certainly better than what parental figures he was saddled with for a good chunk of his life.

Still, he doesn't say a word about what's going on in his mind. Saying he's reticent to trust his father like that would probably be a bit unfair, but it's closer to the truth than anything else. And he can't very well say that he's wracking his brain over someone he met for perhaps a couple minutes, tops.

He knows he's being stupid. He's barely laid eyes on the boy, nevermind spoken with him. There's no reason for August to get so hung up on someone he doesn't know anything about.

But it nags at the back of his mind nevertheless, whatever the deal with that guy was. August won't pretend he's a psychic of any kind, but he is a man of instinct, and right now his instinct is telling him to keep on the lookout. There's something about that boy he can't quite put his finger on, some sort of kinship he can't yet name. It's the same way he felt the first time he saw Neal make a move towards Emma, before he truly started digging into the man's life - and he hasn't forgotten about those days, for all that Emma might have forgiven him for what came after.

So he can't help but keep his eyes open, even as he goes on with his daily life. It's not like he has the busiest schedule in town, after all: aside from his freelance job for the local newspaper, the most work he gets is when Belle asks him to help with library archive, so he has plenty of time left for his impromptu investigation.

Which, in the end, is no investigation at all, because once again, August finds his target when he's not even looking.

He's on his way to pay Jiminy (or Archie, as the rest of town would have it - he's lost the habit to use curse names during his second round of childhood, confused as he was back then) a visit, in fact, when he spots a familiar head of dark hair poking from around the corner.

The boy isn't quite lurking: cowering would be more apt a word, judging by the way he's curled on himself at the mouth of a dark alley, in a shadowed place nobody would think to look if they didn't know what to look for. August can't see his face clearly in the scarce light that filters down there, but by the way he moves his head he appears to be following the people passing by with his gaze, turning left and right as they hurry along the sidewalk. The writer in August's brain can imagine how his eyes must look, can very nearly see how he'd describe them in a novel, flitting back and forth like those of a mouse that's waiting for a falcon to catch him in its talons.

But metaphors aside, at least the situation proves he was somewhat right in his first estimation. Nobody past the middle school years tends to hang out in dinky alleyways for fun, so there must be something seriously wrong going on there.

For how alert the boy is, though, his field of vision must have some major blind spots. He doesn't notice August drawing closer and closer, with the air of someone minding his business, until the man has rounded up on him with a slight smile on his face. "Hey. Need any help?"

The boy startles, taking a couple hurried steps backwards. He hits one of the few trashcans laying around with his elbow, and it makes a clanging noise as he stands there, shivering.

August flinches at the sound, and instantly regrets taking him by surprise. Not the best first impression to make - or, well, second, as it stands. "Sorry. I didn't mean to scare you. Are you- Do you remember me? You were in front of my house, a few days ago."

He receives no reply, but he sees a flicker of recognition in the strange boy's eyes. It brings to mind the question of by how many people he's let himself be seen, if he's able to remember someone as anonymous looking as August.

There's no question on why he wouldn't let himself be seen. From up close, the boy seems to exude waves of energy, of power that reverberates through August's whole body. It's like standing beside a cranked-up radiator - and that, paired with the vanishing of the week prior, leaves no doubt on the presence of magic in him. It’s more than an hypothesis, at this point: it’s the kind of thing one becomes attuned to, after meeting two or three sorcerers in a row.

"I know you're scared" August says, never breaking eye contact. It can do wonders, he's learned, as long as you don't get unnerved first. "I can see it. But if you're lost - or if you're looking for someone who got here first, then there are people who can help you. We have a good registry for missing family members, and group meetings for newcomers, if you've got no one to talk to."

"Who's...who's we?" The boy's voice is barely more than a whisper, rough and cracking as though coming from a parched throat, but it's there, and it's a relief. At least now it's certain he can understand English. "Where am I?"

"Storybrooke. Maine. Not the most animated place to be, but it gets lively now and then.” A pause, and then, more encouraging: “Where do _you_ come from?"

"New York" the young man says, after a moment's hesitation.

He doesn’t offer anything more, and August has to stop himself from asking _what New York, exactly?_

Granted, he hasn't been in the Big Apple recently, but for what he can remember, magic users aren't exactly a common occurrence around there. Nor is he aware of any fashion trends that involve dressing up as an early 20th century newsboy, so either this one comes from a parallel universe or Emma is right and he's getting too old to keep pace with any passing fad.

"You haven't gone very far, then" he replies mildly, once he realizes they've lapsed into an awkward silence. "Do you know how you got here?"

The boy shakes his head minutely. "I was in the subway, and then-"

He seems on the verge of adding something else, but then he bites his lower lip and looks down, stubbornly quiet.

Okay, then. August can deal with this. He's seen way worse things than a preternaturally powerful college-aged kid. He can do damage control until he has the chance to safely call Emma for help. "You seem a bit out of sorts. If you want, you can come over at my place for a bit - you've seen it, you know where it is. Maybe if you rest a while, you'll remember what's happened to you, and we can see if there's a way for you to go back home. I can find you something to eat, too, if you want."

The boy certainly needs it - he seems all skin and bone, his cheeks sunken and his eyes dull. Still, he shakes his head again, this time more vigorously. "No, no, I can't-“

“You don’t need to pay for it, if that’s what you’re worried about. I’m not _that_ good a cook.”

“I-no, no, no.” He’s trembling like a leaf now, fists clenched as if trying to keep himself together. “I don’t- What is this place? Who are you? What do you want from me?"

"What do I- Nothing" August stammers, stunned by the sudden escalation.

Christ, the boy isn’t holding it together at all. His whole self seems to be shifting in and out of focus, its edges growing blurry and solid and blurry again, tempered with smoke once more.

Fuck. Fuck, fuck, fuck.

"It won't change my day if I turn around now and leave you here.” It’s a lie, and he should have stopped lying for ages by now, but if that’s what needed to avoid a full-scale magical meltdown, so be it. “But you look like you need some help, and in this town we do our best to help each other."

 _When we're not trying to start an inter-universe war_ , he wants to add, but he doubts it will be helpful, so he keeps it to himself.

The boy still doesn't look convinced, but his body seems to settle somewhat. The crackle of static that surrounded him only moments ago quiets down, and August can once again hear the familiar noise of the street beside them, his skin no longer crawling because of the odd feeling in the air.

He takes a deep breath, trying to calm down as well, and draws back, straightening his spine. "Look, I'm no one special. And I've seen what you can do. If you want to leave at any time, I won't be able to stop you. So what I'm gonna do is go back home, and if you want, you can follow. No pressure. I'll leave the door open and make some coffee, and you can come in at any time."

He waits a few second to let his words soak in thoroughly, and then turns around and goes back the way he came from. It’s foolish to turn your back on someone who could probably run you through with a blast of energy, but it’s also a demonstration of trust, and he has an inkling that this might be what’s needed in this case.

He keeps his pace deliberately slow, and strains to listen what's going on behind his back over the ruckus of the crows. There's nothing of import, for a while, but after a bit August starts to hear the sound of footsteps, growing louder and clearer even once he's left the busiest part of town, never straying further than a couple paces.

He feels a satisfied smile bloom on his face, then, and doesn’t look over his shoulder until they get home.


	2. You're a drifter, shape-shifter

True to his word, August walks into the house first, leaving the door wide open.

It's probably quite rude, and he's pretty sure someone would chide him for forfeiting proper etiquette if this were a normal day, but these are hardly proper circumstances. The chances that his guest would believe to have walked in a cage if he heard the door click shut behind his back are too high.

Besides, there's nobody around to keep an eye on their manners. Geppetto is not home yet, a fact August had been counting on - he doubts his father would appreciate the way he's just dragged in a magical stray.

The boy follows him into the kitchen and then just stands there, gaping at everything. August watches him move in the corner of his eye, even as he pretends to busy himself with making food.

He doesn't appear to know what to do with himself, at first, but then curiosity seems to win, and he starts moving around the room, hovering hesitantly next to some of the kitchen appliances. He spends a long time staring at the old TV set sitting on a shelf in the corner, frowning as if it were some mythical creature.

The microwave and toaster receive the same treatment. Finally, the boy's eyes settle on the fruit basket in the middle of the table, and he gingerly picks up an orange from a small pile of others of the same kind, scrutinizing it from up close.

"You can eat it, if you want" August says lightly, as he moves to put some coffee up. He's glad, for once, that his father still makes it as he did during the first curse - slowly, with a moka, the Italian way - because it gives him something to do instead of outright staring at his new friend. "I've got to make a trip to the grocery store anyway."

The boy stills, and hurries to put the orange down. "I'm sorry, sir, I couldn't- I'm not hungry."

_Bullshit_ , August thinks, but he only replies: "As you wish. I'll be having lunch in a few, anyway, so you're welcome to join me if you want. Do you like scrambled eggs?"

"Yes, but I...I don't want to impose." A beat of hesitation. "Sir."

"No imposition. I wouldn't have asked you to come here otherwise, right?" August turns around, leaning casually against the counter and finally facing him. "And you don't have to call me sir. I'm not that old yet. I'm August. August W. Booth, at your service."

All he gets in return is a blank, incredulous stare, so he prompts gently: "And what about you? What's your name?"

The boy looks to the side, not meeting his gaze. There's a stretch of silence where he thinks he'll have no answer once again, and is about to turn back to his work when he hears it, barely more than a whisper: "I...I'm Credence. Just- just Credence."

August smiles, even if the name is nearly as unusual as the boy's appearance. "Nice to meet you, Credence. Do sit down, I don't want you to feel like I'm a terrible host."

He then makes a vague gesture, encompassing the entirety of the room, as Credence reluctantly accepts a chair. "So. Correct me if I'm wrong, but it looks like you haven't seen much of...well, all of this in New York."

"It's just...You have a very unusual house" Credence begins, then stops dead in his tracks, as if he wanted to swallow back what he's just said. As if he expected to be reprimanded for it.

August laughs, instead, ignoring the unease rolling in his gut. "I suppose we do things different here in Maine" he concedes. "I haven't been anywhere close to New York in a while, though, so I can't vouch for any similarities between here and there."

"You've been to New York? Si- Mr Booth?"

Better than nothing, August supposes. "A few times. A remarkable city, I must say." Then, as casually as he can manage: "Were you going somewhere nice? With the subway?"

The change is instantaneous. Credence stills, staring vacantly ahead, his hands clutching the edge of the tabletop. His mouth opens and closes like that of a fish, but no sounds comes out.

"Hey." August crouches in front of him, so that they can be sort of eye level. "If- if someone hurt you, or you're in danger, you can tell me. There are people here who could help you. You don't have to be afraid."

"No, I'm not- it's not-" Credence seems unable to get a complete sentence out. "It was me. I- You can't-"

He's starting to shake again. August only notices because it's making the table shake as well, as the boy's fingernails dig into the wood. He stares at it in stunned silence, wondering what he should do.

He can't allow Credence to fade in a puff of smoke, not after all it took to convince him to come along. He could try to take his hand, to ground him with physical contact, but he knows by experience it wouldn't be a good idea - strange touches rarely do anything but make you lash out in fear, especially if you've gone through some serious trauma, as Credence seems to have.

August lays his hand on the table, instead, pressing down on it until the trembling stops and Credence looks up to him again, taking a long, shuddering breath.

"I get it, you know" August says, once he's sure the moment has passed. "Sometimes stuff happens and you feel responsible for it, even if there was nothing else you could have done. But even if you've done something wrong, you don't- you shouldn't have to deal with it alone. It's okay to ask for help. In fact, letting it all out could do you some good."

Credence lets out a strangled sound, and it takes August a full moment to realize it's a sort of humorless laugh. He makes an aborted motion as if to cover his face, but his hands fall in his lap instead, clenching and unclenching slowly as though testing their flexibility.

August follows their movements, transfixed, and it's then that he notices the angry, red welts on the boy's palms, thin scars that cover his skin up to the tip of his fingers.

It's not quite rage, what he feels mounting in his chest. It's like a sinking realization, a memory pulled out of the first few years of his life, paired up with a strong desire to find whoever might have caused those injuries and toss them out of a window.

"I don't know if there's anyone who could help me" Credence whispers, startling him out of his vaguely murderous fantasies.

"It can't hurt to try" August replies, ignoring the lingering, sinister feeling roaming in his head. "In fact, I have a friend who might be just the person for you. She's the closest thing we have to a police officer around here, you see, but she can also do things like you can do."

It's a shot in the dark, but it seems to pay off. Credence stares at him with eyes as big as saucers, seemingly unwilling to believe what he's hearing. "She can...she can do magic?"

August grins, feeling victorious. "Oh, yes. Quite a bit of it. Saved my life a couple times with it, too."

The boy still seems uncertain. August sighs and opens his arm in a peacemaking gesture. "Look, I'm not going to force you to do anything. I won't call her if you don't want me to. But I think she could help. More than I can, for sure."

He holds his breath as Credence looks away, chewing on it. There's no way it can work, he thinks, the boy doesn't know them, he can hardly trust someone who he's just met-

But then Credence turns around again, a hard,somewhat resigned look in his eyes.

"Alright. I can- I’ll try."

"When I said call me, I didn't mean hide the guy into your house first" Emma says as soon as he opens the door.

August smiles ruefully, motioning for her to get in. "What can I say, I've got a soft heart."

She sighs, in the tired, long-suffering way of someone who's been dealing with him for too long to be surprised. As soon as the door is closed, though, she gives a cursory glance around the place and pitches her voice low, as if fearing Credence might sneak up on her unannounced. "Did you get him to talk?"

August nods. "He says he's from New York. Whatever he was doing there, though, it's nothing good."

"Did you check the news? Crime reports, the usual stuff?"

"I gave it a look. Didn't find anything, though. If he was involved in a crime, we might be the only ones to know about it for now, unless of course he's lying about his past."

"We're gonna need one hell of a cover up story, if he's done something with his magic where people could see" Emma says grimly. "Alright, show me what you've got. And pray he hasn't escaped while we were wasting time here, or our mayor will have both our heads."

Credence has not escaped. In fact, he's still where August left him, picking uncertainly at the sandwich in front of him. The way he goes at it is almost fascinating - he nibbles hesitantly at his food, glancing around as if afraid it'll get torn away from his hands.

August feels something weighing down his chest, like a knot of iron rod that wraps around his heart and squeezes, painfully tight.

He clears his throat before speaking, though, because the last thing he wants is for his voice to betray him now. "Credence, this is the friend I was telling you about" he announces, cheerfully enough. "Emma, this is Credence."

"Hello, Credence" Emma adds, sitting down at the other side of the table. "My name is Emma Swan. I'm the sheriff here at Storybrooke. August told me you might be in need of some help"

Credence seems to struggle meeting her gaze, just as he did with August's. "I- I don't know, ma'am. I'm not sure if I can..."

He swallows, hard, and doesn't finish his sentence.

"Let's start with something simple, okay?" Emma digs in her pockets and retrieves a pen and notepad. "It looks like you're not from around here. Is there anyone who might want to know you're safe? Your family?"

"No!" Credence shakes his head so hard it's a wonder his neck doesn't snap in half. "Please don't- I can't go back there. I can't."

"Hey, hey, it's okay." Emma looks up and meets August's eyes, a flash of realization in her gaze before her focus returns on Credence. "We're not going to send you back anywhere. Especially if there's someone who hurt you there."

"She's right" August interjects. "You don't have to be scared anymore, if that's the case."

"Exactly. But we need to know what happened, if someone did something to you, so that we can stop them from doing it again."

"I don't know what happened" Credence whispers, still staring resolutely at his plate. "I don't- I can't remember. Only the subway. And the church, before that."

"Do you know how you got here?"

"No. I don't- I can't think much, while it happens. I tried not to let it happen, I didn't want to hurt anybody, but Mr Graves thought it was my sister's magic, and I just- I didn't want him to hurt her. She had nothing to do with this."

"Was it- did you use your magic to protect her, Credence?" He freezes at the word, but Emma presses on, though her voice is still gentle. "I can understand why you would. Even if something went wrong. Magic is...hard to deal with. Accidents happen, even when you're trying to protect someone. I made a right mess of it, at the beginning. August can confirm."

"It's true. I was there" August chimes in, but all the while his mind keeps working, storing away the tidbits of information the boy's been dropping like breadcrumbs.

A sister. A church. And this Mr Graves- it's not a name August has heard before, but there's an edge to Credence's voice when he says it aloud, something rolling under the surface. They'll have to dig more around it, and dig deep indeed.

Credence still seems dubious, folding his hands before himself and picking at a scab on his index finger. His next sentence is nearly a murmur, so low that they both have to lean in to hear it all.

"Mr Graves said there was going to be a war. That I could help him win it, when it came. He said it would be bigger than the other one, and that we would all need to fight, but I don't want to fight. I just wanted to get away."

It's cryptic and ominous enough to send August reeling back for a second. Emma as well, but she's quicker to recover, and she puts down her notepad, brow furrowed and a quizzical look in her eyes. "What...what war, exactly? Not the one he told you about, we can get to that later. The other one. The one you say has already happened."

Finally, Credence looks up, confusion etched on his face. "You don't know? I thought- I'm sorry, ma'am, I thought everyone in the world had fought in it."

"Humor me."

"It's the Great War, ma'am. My Ma" he hesitates on the word, too focused on himself to notice the shocked looks on their faces "my Ma said they call it the war to end all wars."

_It can't be_ , August thinks, but even as the thought forms his mind is already trying to make sense of it. He fancies that someone looking in from the outside could physically see the numbers floating around his head as he counts down the years. The clothes, the way the boy speaks- but it's impossible. They've met people older than a hundred years, but none of them ever looked so young. There was always something in the eyes that betrayed it.

"Sorry, Credence" he hears himself say, far away, as though it were coming from somebody else's mouth "humor me as well. What year was it, where you came from?"

It's clear the boy is surprised by the request, but he complies, albeit hesitantly. "1926, s- Mr Booth."

There's a beat of stunned silence where the words seem to hang ominously in the air, looming over their heads. Then Emma takes a long, deep breath and gets up, her notes forgotten.

"August, can I speak with you for a moment?"

They're whispering.

They probably think he can't hear them, but Credence has long since learned how to eavesdrop when it comes to save his life, even if his Ma had tried to beat the habit out of him.

Besides, his senses are always sharper when he's in such a state, his sight clearer, his hearing keener. He's pretty sure he would be able to listen even if Mr Booth and the woman that reminds him so much of Miss Goldstein were actually keeping their voice low enough to call it a whisper.

"I'm sorry, how exactly are we supposed to act now? Magical travel is one thing, but time travel? That's a new one."

They think you're a freak, his mind supplies with cruel cheerfulness. It's nonsense, they haven't said anything on that front - but it fills the gaps of what they haven't said neatly enough.

It sounds like something his mother would tell him, too, and that's the worst thing of all.

"How is it any different from what we've seen already? You've gone back and forth from four kingdoms at least, and don't even get me started about how many times your mother alone has lost her memory. Time travel is barely a blip on the radar."

"Depends on how big a blip that is. And on what radar."

He can't feel the tips of his fingers anymore. It's not unlike how it went during winters in New York, when even pressing against a building wall couldn't keep him out of the freezing wind as he handed out leaflets: but it's not winter here, and Credence knows what it means. If he could look down at his hands instead of staring numbly at the oddly-shaped oven in Mr Booth's kitchen, he'd probably see them start to vanish, slowly, out of focus.

Instead he's stuck where he is, hunched over the table, feeling himself come undone.

"We need to help him, Emma. Look at the state he's in - I don't know what it is that they did to him, but I'm not about to let it happen again."

"I'm not saying we shouldn't help him, I'm just saying we need to be careful. Who knows what kind of trouble we might cause this time."

There's a queer, tuneless white noise ringing in his ears. It drowns every other sound in the room, and Credence can't make out what Mr Booth and Miss (Mrs?) Swan are saying anymore, to the point that he doesn't notice they've stopped talking and have moved away from the kitchen's doorframe they were huddling in until he hears someone calling for him, closer than they should be.

"Credence? You okay, buddy?"

You can control it, Credence. Mr Booth probably means to sound reassuring, but the voice that chants in his head is Mr Graves', over and over and over again. He wants to dig his fingers in his skull and tear it away from his brain but he can't, he can't, and it digs and nestles and festers in his thoughts and-

The last thing Credence registers, before the _other_ tears out of his chest, is Emma Swan's voice, curiously flat for someone who's watching a _monstermonsterkillerFREAK_ come alive before her eyes.

"Well, shit. Regina's going to have a field day with us."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This fic is gonna be a 20-odd chapters long excuse to point fingers at all the bullshit that happened in this fucking show. Thank God for characters like August who made it bearable for me because I hate the amnesia trope and after the third time they pulled it out I was like...was it really necessary bruh. And then they just KEPT GOING, so yeah, for all that I loved OUAT up to the end of season 6 there'll be no shortage of tart remarks about stuff like that. Also we're two chapters in and Emma is already tired as hell. Honestly? Mood.  
> BTW the orange thing at the beginning was a nod to one of my fave comfort Gradence fics in existence, Sunshine in Winter by lushthemagicdragon. Go read it, honestly, it's so very soft I think I've dug it out of my Ao3 history at least five times.  
> Thank you for reading, I'll see you next time! <3


	3. When I run through the deep dark forest, long after this begun

"So let me get this straight" Regina says, disbelief dripping from every word "you two tried to approach a potentially dangerous magical being on your own, without asking anyone for help?"

"To be completely honest, the fault's all mine here" August admits. "Emma didn't do anything wrong. This time."

Emma turns an outraged stare onto him, which would be funny if it didn't mean that now there's two women glaring daggers at him. It lasts perhaps a moment or two before she sighs, shakes her head and returns her attention to Regina. "I'm sorry. I wanted to ask you to come around once we'd gotten the kid under control. But...he really is young, Regina. A few years older than Henry, at most. Whatever's going on with him, he hasn't had much time to learn how to control it."

"Well, we should have some experience with dealing with overpowered boys at this point" Regina says dryly. "I'm just glad Gideon got turned back into a baby, otherwise they'd get on like a house on fire."

On a normal day August would have a few choice words to say about this particular matter, because he knows quite well what it feels like to revert to one's younger self and it's not something he'd ever think to be glad of. However, considering that they're standing outside what's left of his house, smoke and debris still coming out from the hole that Credence's meltdown tore open between roof and wall, it's safe enough to say that today's events are anything but normal, even by Storybrooke standards.

Regina was not the only one to rush to their aid. The blast has prompted a great number of people to flock down to see what the fuss was all about, like birds startled off their perches by a gunshot. They're not as numerous as he'd feared, though, mostly because it's not even midday yet - explosions, particularly those of magical origins, are a common enough occurrence in Storybrooke that most of its inhabitants likely didn't find it so interesting to warrant closing up shop to come check what was happening.

His father, most notably, hasn't shown up yet, of which August couldn't be more grateful. He's going to need more time if he is to concoct a good excuse for the mess he's made.

Emma catches him looking up at the roof and nudges him gently, startling him out of his considerations. "Don't worry" she says, seemingly guessing what he's thinking about. "As long as he hasn't put a curse on the house, we can fix it up in no time."

August shakes his head, both in answer and to clear up his mind. "I know. It's just- What matters is that we find him before he can cause more damage. To other people and to himself."

"It shouldn't be a problem" Regina comments, bending down to pick a discarded piece of plaster and giving it a critical look. "If this is his usual style, he must have left a magic trail clear enough for just about anyone to follow. You two were lucky he missed you when he burst into pieces."

"Lucky isn't exactly the word I'd choose" August mutters, and he's relieved to see Emma nod in agreement instead of scoff at the suggestion.

It's not only a matter of them both not having a great track record when it comes to luck: facts are, they were too close to Credence not to get swept up in his outburst. Whatever it entailed - and August didn't register much, beside a cloud of thick, black smoke and a godawful noise that was somewhere between a scream and a vibrating hum like the one he was taught to associate with nuclear power plants - it was strong enough to tear down wood and bricks as if they were made of butter. By all means, he and Emma should have come out of that house with way more injuries than the scratch he got when part of a beam fell too close to his face.

It was intentional. It must - August has to believe that it was, that Credence was capable of restraining himself enough not to hurt any of them. He can't afford to think that the boy might be too dangerous to be around.

"We need to find out how he got here, too" Regina adds after a moment. "If there's a portal, either we send him back where he came from or we close it for good. The last thing we need is another wave of destructive magic to sweep in again."

She almost looks out of place standing next to them, her hairstyle impeccable and her clothes crisp and clean while he and Emma are covered in dust flakes from head to toe. It must be its own peculiar brand of magic - she has a penchant for always looking her best, even during the odd apocalypse crisis.

Still, August's grateful to have her there. It's not something he would have ever envisioned to think just a couple years past, considering the amount of trouble they all went through because of her, but it's easy to be glad for her presence now that they're part of the same huge and debatably morally good extended family. It's good to have someone competent around, even if she made it abundantly clear that she thinks he fucked up royally.

"He said he was from 1926, though" he says, frowning. "Our 1926 - he mentioned New York, and the subway system. Does it make any sense to you?"

Regina raises her eyebrows. "Not in the slightest. And you, Swan?"

"No clue. I'll ask Belle to check the archives, see if there's anything that might be explained by magic in the records for that year. Maybe this will explain how he found his way here."

"Do you think it's even possible? That he travelled 90-odd years only to pop in our town?"

Emma blinks up at him as if she couldn't fathom hearing something so stupid spoken out loud, even coming from his mouth. "Are you seriously asking me that? I've spent the past few years saying surely it can't get any weirder and every time I've been sorely disappointed. I just hope Credence doesn't turn out to be related to me. Or Killian. Or either of you. I don't think I could handle it."

August raises his arms, because okay, he can concede her that. For her part, Regina only rolls her eyes, as if saddled with two bickering children. "Alright. Then we should split up. First we see if we can find a trail, and then-"

Her courageous attempt at getting them back on track is interrupted by some clamour at the edge of the crowd that has gathered around them. It grows in intensity as the person involved pushes through the throng of people, and August tenses, because he could recognize that voice pretty much anywhere.

Crap. To hell with any cover up story he might have invented, then.

"Pin- August!" Geppetto elbows his way towards him and then grabs him by the arm, his free hand hovering over the cut on August's cheek, which luckily has long stopped bleeding. "What happened? Are you okay?"

Then he seems to take in the smoking three-quarters of building that remain standing, and his eyes go very, very wide. "What in all heaven happened to our house?"

Well. At least his father seemed to worry about his well-being first, before that of the house.

August finds himself the closest a grown man can be to being _grounded_.

Emma and Regina set out to start their investigation (though, in Emma's case, likely after a stop home to get a change of clothes), but since he has little to offer in the magic department, he's stuck with his father, trying to convince the old man that yes, he's fine, and no, he doesn't need to go to the hospital, not even for a quick check up.

Their house is quickly taken in hand by a team of helpful dwarves and people actually well-versed in magic, so he and Geppetto find themselves more or less kicked out, once they've assessed the damage and retrieved anything that they might need. They can skip any kind of questioning by police they would have to go through literally anywhere else, at least, since Emma is technically still the sheriff and therefore a member of law enforcement was present for the whole debacle.

That she was just as at loss as he when it came to dealing with Credence is nobody's business but theirs, after all.

Still, he finds himself with no escape route for a long while, because while the official story of a bout of stray magic accidentally tearing half a wall down will probably hold for a while, it doesn't abate anyone's worry in the slightest, and Geppetto is not an exception. August's nearly convinced himself that he will have to resort to some drastic measures to get out of his predicament, when Jiminy takes pity of him and his father both and invites them in his apartment for lunch.

It's a godsend in more ways than one, because it means they can get something to eat without sitting through Granny's prying questions, and that August can take a hot shower and finally wash away the thick layer of grime off his skin and hair - and if he stands under the spray of water long after it has gone cold, until his thoughts have grown clearer and Geppetto is too preoccupied with other things to interrogate him on what happened, well, nobody could really blame him, could they?

But it also means that he finally gets the chance to pull some strings in his favour - pun not intended, he amends after a moment, when his inner Emma metaphorically smacks him over the head. He knows her real life counterpart has had just about enough of his puppet and marionette jokes, but he can't help himself, usually.

The thing is, humour aside, that Jiminy maintains a soft spot for him, as if he were still baby-faced, rambunctious little Pinocchio. August can see it in his eyes every time they meet, that the former cricket still blames himself for having failed his duties as a conscience.

It's not entirely fair. It's not like August blames him for anything, after all - in the great scheme of things, Jiminy's faults rank far lower than, say, those of August himself. Or his father's. Or the Blue Fairy's.

But it has the undeniable perk of making Jiminy way more indulgent than he would otherwise be in his regard. Which means that when he makes a show of awkwardly asking if someone should take Pongo out for a walk, Jiminy's therapist senses kick in and read it as the attempt to get out of Geppetto's worry that it could realistically be, and August finds himself back out in the open air, an excited dalmatian bounding after him.

He feels vaguely guilty of having lied to their faces like this, like a rebellious kid trying to sneak out at night. Being home always has this effect on him, as if he were stuck in a liminal space between the man he's trying to be and the child that still lives in the memory of most people he crosses paths with. He's not sure if this is an after-effect of the shit he's been through, if it would be expected from anyone going from puppet to boy to man not once but twice, or if he's finally catching up on his teenage years the way he couldn't while he was in the system, like any other boy having to go through adolescence in a place as colourfully suffocating as Storybrooke - in any case, it's disorientating, and he'd have avoided making it worse, hadn't it been for Credence.

Despite the acrid taste the lie leaves on his tongue, though, he's a man on a mission, and securing Pongo for himself was the first step of what might be his only chance to catch up with the situation. According to Emma, the poor dog was for a long time the only way they had to track down anything ranging from petty criminals to cursebreaking objects - him and Ruby, but August would have a harder time asking her to help without raising any suspicions.

Besides, he's not really sure of where Ruby might be. With all the dimension-hopping everyone's been doing since the first curse broke, he's sort of lost track of everyone's whereabouts. He hopes she and Dorothy are enjoying some kind of belated honeymoon somewhere without murderous witches to get in the way, but whatever the case, she's still off-limits.

Which doesn't leave him with any great amount of options, so August crouches down and produces a battered napkin from inside his pocket, balled up and dripping soot every time it moves, and offers it to Pongo. "Here, boy. Can you help me? Can you help me find Credence?"

He'll admit they probably look ridiculous. This kind of thing never really works unless one's acting as the dashing protagonist of a cheap mystery novel. But he's made do with worse odds, and he hasn't got anything else to work on. The napkin was the only thing Credence used that he could take away from the house before they left - and the boy did use it religiously, every few bites, with the furtive look of someone who's expecting to be clouted round the head if he misses a single stray crumb.

August has been in the exact same spot. It's the main reason why he's dropping any semblance of survival instinct to follow someone who's shown himself to be that destructive.

For once, luck seems to be on his side. Pongo takes a few good sniffs at the napkin, gives a thoughtful little huff, and then he's off, wagging his tail enthusiastically.

Despite everything, August feels his mouth curl into a small smile. "Good boy" he mutters, and lets himself be tugged away.

Pongo leads him towards the outskirts of the city. Sometimes he raises his head to sniff around once more, which makes sense: if Credence went anywhere, it wasn't on his feet, but rather as the vaguely cloud-shaped being that tore August's kitchen apart.

And that anywhere seems to be the woods, for soon enough there are leaves and twigs crunching under their feet.

August has been wary of the forest surrounding Storybrooke for a long time. It stems from his first weeks spent around town, like as not, when it seemed that all he could do was trail after Emma begging her to see the truth, guilty and afraid and hearing the ticking clock of his pain grow louder by the minute, but there's something else, deeper inside. Some scars the Enchanted Forest left, ones that still ache, even after all those years.

All in all, it's not a place he tends to like spending time in. Still, it's much more pleasant in the daylight, and it doesn't look entirely unfamiliar, either. He could probably find the tree that transported him and Emma blindfolded, if he so wished.

He certainly can notice the dark lump huddling at the base of an old sycamore, trembling as if hit by the wind.

"Good boy" August whispers again, patting Pongo's side in thanks, and then begins moving more slowly, keeping a tight hold on the leash.

Credence is curled on himself, his fingers rooted in his hair, his face pressed against his knees. His eyes snap up when he hears footsteps, and he raises on unsteady legs, a hand braced against the tree as if to keep himself upright, the other arm raised like a wall between him and August.

"Stay away" he says. He pitches his voice low, and it would sound threatening if it didn't feel on the verge of breaking apart. "Don't- don't come any closer."

"I won't" August assures, and it's the truth - he has no intention of crossing the clearing Credence is standing in until he has a good reason to do so. "Not unless you want me to. But Pongo here might want to meet you properly - he likes making new friends. Would it be okay? If I let him come to you instead?"

Credence doesn't answer. Instead his eyes slide down to focus on the dog, as if trying to assess whether Pongo's cuddly face might be hiding a dangerous beast.

Sensing it might be the closest he will get to a yes or a no, August bends down to take Pongo's leash off, fumbling awkwardly as he tries to unhook it without breaking eye contact with Credence too much. "It's alright. He doesn't bite."

The dalmatian pads over without further hesitation, sniffing with clear interest at Credence's pants. The boy flinches at the sudden contact, but slowly he seems to relent, and he offers Pongo a hand, albeit with some reluctance.

The dog licks enthusiastically at his fingers, and a stunned peal of laughter makes its way out of Credence's throat. He shuts his mouth immediately, looking at August warily even as he crouches down to tentatively pet Pongo's head - but still, it happened, they both heard it. August takes it as the good sign it is and sits down, back against a tree trunk, so they can be at eye level.

"Have you ever had a dog?" He asks, casually enough, as if they were exchanging pleasantries at a bus stop and not avoiding another magic eruption.

Credence shakes his head. "We couldn't afford any pets, at the church. I liked cats more, but Ma...Ma said cats tend to hang around witches. That they might have been a witch's familiar, come to spy on us."

August shrugs, despite the new spike of worry the words send through him. "If it's of any comfort, I've met a fair share of witches, and none of them had a cat. Actually, I think the last one had a thing for flying monkeys."

Credence frowns suspiciously at him, clearly trying to determine if he's being mocked or not. "I thought witches were supposed to stay hidden from other people."

"I'm afraid the rules here are a little different than where you come from" August says with a small grin. "I don't know if you've had the chance to look around in the past few days, but we aren't exactly...the most typical Maine town."

"Is that the reason why you aren't afraid of me? Because...because you've seen all those strange things?"

August mulls it over for a bit. There's no easy answer, and the wrong one could do unspeakable amounts of damage. "You think I should be afraid of you?"

"I...I don't know what else to think. You let me in your house and I destroyed it. I didn't want to, I'm so, so sorry, but- I could have hurt you. And the sheriff."

"But you didn't." August watches Credence's face attentively, waiting for any shift in his expression that might betray the truth. "I'm right, am I not? You didn't want to hurt us."

"I...I tried. It- the thing, it doesn't feel as strong here as it was back home. I don't know why. It could have done much worse."

"But it didn't." August exhales deeply, trying to steel himself. "Okay, listen, do you want to know what I think?"

At Credence's almost imperceptible nod, he presses on: "I think you're afraid enough for the both of us. I don't know the reason behind it, but I'd like to help you sort it out, if you want. And I also think that I'd be a very stupid man if I was scared to be around someone who's done his best not to hurt me."

"What if it happens again, though? And I can't control myself?"

"We'll cross that bridge when we get there." August smiles once more. "For all that we know, we might even find a way for you not to hurt anyone ever again."

"I...I don't think it's possible, sir."

"Oh, trust me, I've seen weirder things happen. I was swallowed by a sea monster at some point, did you know? And I'm here to tell the tale." Granted, August thinks, he's pretty sure he died briefly while escaping said sea monster, but this is not something Credence needs to know.

For his part, the boy seem slightly less wary of him, if a tad more confused. He keeps on absentmindedly scratching Pongo's head, biting his lip in concentration. "You say such odd things, I never know if you are joking or not."

"Emma once told me pretty much the same thing. Except she was way angrier and told me I was losing my mind. I rather like your approach more."

Credence smiles, a quick thing that's come and gone in the blink of an eye. "And then what happened? You seemed good friends. If...if you don't mind me asking."

"Not at all. And well, she realized I was telling the truth, so our relationship improved."

"Are you, now?"

"Am I what?"

"Are you telling the truth now? That- that you're not angry?"

August lays a hand on his heart, hoping the words come out as convincing as he needs them to be. "I swear I'm not mad about anything that happened. The house will need some work, but it's nothing that can't be fixed. And I really want to help you. I'm not lying. I never lie."

_Almost_ , his brain chastises him, reminding him of what happened just hours earlier, but he bites back _Never when it matters_.

There's a beat where Credence seems torn between snarling at him and beating an hasty retreat. Then, something shifts in the boy's posture, his shoulders sagging minutely. He looks tired, all of a sudden, exhausted to the bone in a way he wasn't before, despite the sunken cheeks and the deep dark shadows under his eyes. He seems both younger and older than he was just a minute ago, terrified and world-weary at once, and it makes August want to reach out for him, offer a hand, a shoulder to lean on, something.

But he can't. He needs to be true to his word and wait for Credence to take the first step. They're almost there, surely a couple more minutes of waiting won't-

"I should have never let Gold turn you into a man again" a voice calls out from behind him, full of mock-bitterness. "You never got so much in the way as a schoolkid."

The spell breaks. Credence bolts upright once more, a frantic look on his face. August follows suit, sighing, turning around to face the newcomers. "Oh, don't say that, Regina. You know you're delighted to have me around."

Regina scoffs as she steps into the clearing, Emma trailing after her. The latter turns to August with the air of someone regretting all their life choices, which he can't blame her for, if she's just spent a while trudging through the woods chasing after wisps of smoke. "I thought you would stay with your father."

"I thought you would find him sooner than I did, with magic and everything."

"The trail wasn't very clear" Regina says in dismay. "We lost it a couple times. How did you even manage to get here so quickly?"

"I had a little help from a friend." August gestures vaguely to Pongo, who, completely unaware of Credence's distress, keeps pawing at the boy's legs, hoping for another scratch behind the ears.

Both women seem to snap to attention, their eyes turning to Credence. Emma seems uncertain on what to do, but Regina's stance makes it clear that she's ready to attack at the first sign of plausible danger.

August moves instinctively before he's even aware to be doing so, and finds himself standing between the two of them and Credence, as though trying to block their aim. It's stupid - he trusts them, both of them, because even if he didn't trust Regina for a long time, Emma did, and he has faith in Emma's judgment - but it's more for the boy than for August himself. Credence will lose his cool the second he senses they might want to hurt him, and Regina will put an end to any attempt at magic the second she fears he's going to attack them.

It's a vicious circle August wants to avoid, if he can.

Emma shoots him a perplexed look, but he stands his ground, cocking his head to the side, hoping she'll get the message. Finally, she nods, and peers over his shoulder to look at Credence. "Are you alright, Credence? I know what you did this morning must have taken its toll on you. Are you hurt? "

August can't see the boy from where he's standing, but he hears rustling, grass rustling under Credence's feet. He's moving, likely taking a step or two away from them. "No, ma'am. I'm...I'm sorry for what I did to you."

"It's okay. I know that you didn't want to hurt me or August."

"This time" Regina interjects, scathingly.

"Regina" Emma hisses, but the mayor raises a hand, unperturbed.

"I just want to know if it's going to happen again, and if I need to put a shield over my town before it happens."

"I won't- I don't want it to happen again" Credence stammers. "I want it to stop. I don't want to hurt anyone."

"We know" Emma reassures him. "But we need to know what brought it up in the first place. Did we do something that triggered it?"

"You didn't- It wasn't you, ma'am, I just...The way you looked at me when we talked, I thought you were going to call me a freak. I shouldn't have presumed, but I- I didn't want to hear it again."

_Again_. The implications of that word alone would take a while to unpack weren't they in the middle of a standoff, and August grits his teeth, trying to keep himself in check.

But Emma blinks stunned. "When we were- Kid, we didn't step away to talk because we thought you were a freak. We were just a bit in shock because you said you came from 1926."

"But _why_? What's wrong with it?"

"That it was about 90 years ago" Regina answers. "And that unless we're missing something, you just travelled forward in time."

The silence that follows is deafening. "What?" Credence whispers, barely audible.

"It's true" August speaks out, before he can do anything rash. "They're telling the truth. This is 2017. Welcome to the new millennium, kid."

It seems to be just about too much information for Credence to process. More silence stretches on, and August is just about to turn around and close the gap between them when something happens.

It's not immediately palpable what it might be, to be honest. It feels like an earthquake, the ground shaking under their feet, a strong, sudden rush of wind blowing through the trees - but it only lasts a split second, and it appears to be more akin like a single, odd wave raising under them and moving on to crash among the trees, like a radio signal pulsing through the earth.

Like another, stronger explosion.

"What the hell was that?" Regina blurts out, once it has passed and they are no longer staring at each other in shock.

"I don't know." Emma looks up, as though she could see past the forest and down the hill. "But I think it came from the middle of town, whatever it was."

August looks at Credence. The boy isn't any less stunned than them, his eyes wide, his fingernails digging into the tree bark. At his feet, Pongo is growling threateningly, bowing low towards the ground as if poised to attack – but he’s not facing Credence at all. Rather the contrary, given the way he’s staring in the direction the boom came from.

"This isn't you, is it?" He asks, though he's almost sure he knows the answer.

Credence shakes his head. "I'm not doing anything. I swear."

"You may be right" Regina says. "But are you sure this isn't anything you dragged in when you got here?"

August wants to dismiss her words, to say that it could be literally anything in a long list that starts with Dr Whale's experiments to his own house falling down for good. But he's still looking at Credence, and there's something creeping on the boy's face, a mask of terror and shock that twists his every feature.

It's enough to make dread settle in August's chest, and he can't seem to shake it off, even as they set out to get back to Storybrooke.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This fic is supposed to be a stress relief mechanism that should help me keep my sanity between one more serious work and the other. But apparently, I can't _not_ get way too attached, so that's the reason why this chapter is 4800 words long and the next one will probably be even worse, since we're finally getting into the thick of the action.  
> Also yeah, I'm using it to dig deeper into August's trauma, why are you asking.  
> Thank you for reading this! Lots of (safely distanced) hugs and kisses.


	4. Wolf-father, at the door

Emma's estimate, it turns out, was only slightly off.

By the time they realize that to have been felt from so far away the blast must have come from underneath the city, and not above it, there's already a considerable amount of people clustering around the mine entrance closer to its epicenter, clamoring as if they were not standing right beside a safety hazard.

At least following the crowd is a reliable way to learn what's going down in Storybrooke, August thinks drily, and Regina seems to be of the same opinion, judging by the way she sighs and appears to steel herself before diving among the dozen or so of citizens asking her what might be going on.

Among those citizens is Jiminy, though, so August makes a beeline for him as soon as he walks on the scene, Pongo tugging at his leash until he's back with his rightful owner.

"Where were you?" The former cricket asks, not quite upset as much as wearily relieved. "Your father went looking for you when you didn't come back. He was worried you had gotten involved with the second explosion as well."

August feels a fresh wave of guilt roll in the back of his throat, curdling on his tongue like spoiled milk. "I'm sorry. We got sidetracked on the way and didn't notice so much time had passed."

Unbidden, his eyes move to find Credence, hovering awkwardly at the edge of the crowd a mere few feet from him. Nobody seems to have noticed him yet, which is a relief, but still his eyes flit endlessly between the closed off mine and August himself, as if unsure of which one will lunge first to swallow him whole.

Not that August has any intention of doing that. Mostly he's just glad the boy followed them out of the woods, albeit orbiting around him like a very tense satellite even though Emma was the one leading them away, because any argument in favor of forcing Credence to do anything would have likely gone to shit very quickly.

He turns back to Jiminy before the man can take notice of what he's looking at. "Have you seen what happened, then?" He asks, gesturing vaguely towards the mine.

Jiminy shakes his head. "There's been nothing to see since we got here. The captain says there's nothing to worry about, but I doubt he knows much more than us."

Indeed, Deputy Sheriff Hook seems to be trying to keep the mob at large from falling headfirst into the mine, gesturing widely with both arms as he speaks. He brightens visibly once he notices Emma approaching, but it's clear from his grimace that he's at his wits’ end, considering a good chunk of the people surrounding him don't seem reassured in the slightest and are still nagging at him.

August takes his leave from Jiminy and elbows his way towards them, smiling tightly when Hook notices him. "Captain."

The pirate nods in acknowledgement. "Booth. I should have known I'd find you here too, after what went down this morning."

"Why does everyone think everything is my fault today?" August scoffs, but there's no animosity in it, as there wasn't in Hook's words. They're not exactly the best of friends, but they bear each other no ill will, for all that the captain used to be quietly jealous of his friendship with Emma, and that August might have been the bearer of potentially disruptive news for the both of them at some point. Maybe. He's not sure. Emma was never very clear in her recounting of those instances, and he knows better than to pry when she doesn't want to talk.

Nevertheless, he turns back to the entrance before Emma can give a pungent answer to his rhetorical question. "So. Any idea of what's going on here?"

"Nothing." Hook lowers his voice so that the crowd pressing on them from every side can't hear, forcing them to draw closer to hear. "Whatever it was, it wasn't strong enough to cause a cave in, but I haven't dared go in to check. I'm afraid your house will have to wait, Booth - we're going to need all dwarves on hand to sort this out."

"Don't worry, I get it." August glances at Emma, who's frowning at the hole as if it had personally offended her. "Wasn't there a dragon down there at some point?"

She lets out a noncommittal noise, still deep in thought. "We've gotten rid of it ages ago. And we'd have noticed if another one had crept in, I hope. It's not like there are that many dragons around, besides Maleficent."

"And Zorro."

"And Zorro. Still, I doubt either of them will be down there at this point. Last I knew they were building a summer nest up the mountains."

"Dragons aren't the only creatures we should worry about" Regina interjects, showing up by their side after having successfully freed herself from the last concerned citizen. "Almost everyone has taken their turn when it comes to plotting evil deeds in the mines. My mother. Rumpelstiltskin. _Me_. Even if it were someone trying their hand at it again, it could be anyone in town."

"Has anyone checked on the crocodile recently, though?" Hook muses. "Not that I don't believe he has redeemed himself, but old habits die hard."

"Belle said he was looking after Gideon" Emma replies, shaking her head. "I'm positive Gold knows that there'd be hell to pay if she found out he's dragged the boy along while playing evil sorcerer in a cave, so I think we can rule him out."

"Alright then. Guess we'll have to take the matter into our hands." Hook rummages through his pockets, producing at last a vaguely old-fashioned mobile phone. "I'll get Leroy, see which way we can take that won't fall down on our heads. Then we can get down there and check what is it that-"

He cuts himself off abruptly, his brow furrowed as he looks at the mine. It takes August a moment to realize he isn't just staring vacantly ahead, lost in thought, but after that he follows the pirate's gaze and finds himself gaping nearly as much, trying to puzzle out what he's seeing.

There's a man climbing out of the entrance. He has a nonchalant look to himself as he does, as though he were simply taking a leisure stroll around the park. A hush falls on the crowd as more and more people seem to notice him, until everyone is observing him silently, almost holding their breath.

He stops once he's gotten close enough, a nearly bemused glint in his eyes as he regards them all, his hands folded behind his back like an old man supervising at a construction site. He's wearing what must have once been a finely tailored suit, minus the jacket, but it's dusty and rumpled, despite the neatly rolled up shirtsleeves, and it hangs oddly on him, as if it had been meant for someone of a different size.

But the clothes are not the problem. His appearance is striking on its own right, if not downright unsettling, and it would be even more so were most of them not accustomed to people from a great variety of kingdoms.

For one, he looks unnaturally pale, like a washed-up parody of a man. It reminds August of the papers he'd get handed when he was at school, the pictures fading more the more copies were made out of them. He has a shock of white-blonde hair on his head, too, and a thin moustache to match, but it's the eyes that catch the attention of any onlooker - not the left one, a normally dark, if penetrating one, but that on the right, of a shade of blue so clear it's a wonder the late afternoon light isn't making him squint in discomfort.

The stranger smiles slightly, not at all self-conscious even under the scrutiny of so many eyes. "Well, I hadn't expected such a welcome" he says. The words bear the slightest trace of an accent, too faint to determine its origin. "It seems I must thank you for gathering here. It is truly...heartwarming."

"Who are you?" Regina asks. She keeps her tone level, but August can sense the threat underneath, the queen peeking from behind the mayor. "What were you doing down there?"

The man's grin grows even wider. "I'm afraid this is not an answer I can give you yet. But there is no reason to worry- I don't doubt you will see more of me in the coming days."

He extracts something from his back pocket, then, with a wide flourish that has most people taking a step back in alarm. August finds himself among them, and though he can't explain why, he doesn't find it in himself to blame anyone - there's something about this mysterious newcomer that rings an alarm bell in his brain, a dangerous aura that reverberates through them all. Had it been another town, another day, he wouldn’t have been surprised to see the man draw out a gun, or something on that vein.

It's not a gun at all, though, just a thin strip of dark that the stranger holds with the tips of his fingers, but by the time that becomes clear August is no longer paying attention to the scene before him. The movement has brought him to bump into someone, and turning around reveals that someone to be Credence, his dark eyes fixed on the figure standing at the mouth of the cave.

August hadn't even noticed him come so close. "Credence?"

The boy doesn't answer. He keeps staring ahead, his arms rigid against his sides, his fists clutched so tight the knuckles are turning white.

"Credence?" August repeats, with a tinge of alarm. Not good. Not good at all. "Credence, what's wrong? Do you know him?"

"I- I don't know" Credence whispers. "He looks familiar, but...I can't remember."

The man in question seems to take notice of their conversation, and his odd eyes turn on Credence, glinting with delight. "There you are, Credence" he says amiably, like a teacher giving a mock-reprimand to his favorite pupil. "I didn't think I would see you again so soon. I'm glad to see Madam Picquery's attempts to get rid of you were all in vain."

He lets out a low chuckle at the tense confusion on the boy's face, his head bowing slightly in understanding even though his eyes never leave his prey. "Of course, you might not remember me as I am now. I understand it must have been an exhausting couple of days. Allow me to help you."

There's a flash. For a second his face seems to melt into someone else's, his features growing softer, his hair darker, the almost translucent paleness of his skin replaced by a healthier shade of pink. It doesn't last long enough for August to recognize whoever it was that took his place for a second, but the same doesn't seem to be true for Credence. The boy lets out a strangled gasp and staggers back a couple steps, a hand flying to his neck as his fingers clutch the frayed collar of his shirt.

The stranger's face returns to his former appearance, grin still in place. He opens his mouth to add something else, but Emma cuts him off before he can even start, of which August is extensively grateful, because it prevents him from doing something unbearably stupid like pounce on the man like a feral cat.

"I don't know what game it is that you're playing at," his friend begins, raising her hands in what could pass for a reassuring gesture if August didn't know any better "but as it stands, I have to take you into custody until you give us your name or we know for sure what you were doing in our mines. And I don't know where you come from, but here it'll make things easier for you if you come willingly."

The man's grin vanishes, though not entirely. He looks, though sobered up, as if he were listening to a child's rambling without being allowed to laugh at it. He gives another slow, fluid half-nod, the picture of compliance. "I see. I suppose there isn't really much choice for me, then."

Then, in a moment, chaos erupts.

The stranger moves, faster than any might have anticipated him to be. He flicks the wood stick in his hand as though throwing a lure, and a bright light flashes for a moment as a wave of energy seems to move against Emma. Without hesitation, Hook moves to puts himself between the two of them, but Emma precedes him, drawing up a magic shield. The other's attack collides against it, and then Regina cuts in, a fireball already crossing the distance between the man and herself.

He waves a hand. The fire dissipates, simple as that, and then he leans forward, another burst of light erupting from the thing in his hand.

Someone's screaming around them. Most people are already fleeing by the time it's clear that there's a battle raging before their eyes, some running off without glancing back, others moving more slowly, their gaze glued on the fight in terrified stupor.

And all of this August only absorbs belatedly, as if it were happening far off in the distance.

His first instinct is to throw himself at Credence. It's about on par with the need to look out for Emma, in truth, but she has two way more fight-leaning people on her side, and she can hold her own regardless. Credence, on the other hand, seems to have almost shrunken down in size, bent over himself in the middle of that now-empty stretch of land, a glassy tinge to his eyes.

August has no doubts he'd be run through in a matter of seconds if a magic blast were to hit him. He's not the stuff warriors are made of- hell, he's not even the stuff _fairytales_ are made of anymore. Wood would be more effective than flesh and blood in any matter such as this.

And yet, that doesn't stop him from trying to shield Credence with his body, putting an arm around the boy's shoulders and noting the way he stills at the contact, even in such a state - but now is not the time to think about it. It doesn't matter, so long as Credence can count on some semblance of safety.

It won't last long, though. August's mind races through the choices they have, preciously few as they might be. He could take Credence away from there, run for cover and hope from the best, but he knows he wouldn't go very far if Emma and the others were defeated by their opponent.

But even then, what could he do to help their effort? Unless he and Hook teamed up to distract that weird man, giving Emma and Regina a chance to finish him. It would likely end up with either or both of them dead, but if it gives the two women the upper hand...

And then it's over, as suddenly as it had begun.

August looks up, blinking the dust away from his eyes. He doesn't know whose attack managed to hit the ground, but there is a strip of scorched land that marks the results of their effort, and there's dirt rising from it, blown around by the chilly breeze that signals the sun will probably set very soon.

Emma and Hook are still pretty much where he remembered them to be, albeit much more ruffled than before, but Regina is a few feet away, likely caught mid-attempt to sneak up on her foe. It's immediately clear why it hasn't succeeded: there is a thin... _something_ standing between them and the stranger, an opaque veneer of magic that wraps around him like a wall and distorts his feature the way a foggy glass might.

There's no telling for sure who might have cast it, but August can make an educated guess. Emma and Regina's magic never had that greenish hue- if anything, it looks close to what he remembers of Zelena's work, though with nothing of her charm.

The stranger himself straightens up, appearing no worse for the wear. "Well then" he says, no trace of exertion or exhaustion in his voice. "I fear there is still some work to do here. I think I will have to make your acquaintance another time- but soon, I hope. Until then..."

He turns on himself, as if he were checking what's behind his shoulder, and then he's gone, vanished into a puff of air. The wall disappears a split second after he does, shattering into evanescent green crumbs, and Regina recoils instinctively, staring at the now vacant spot where the other was a moment ago.

Emma's head swivels around, instead, her gaze landing first on Hook, then on the stunned mayor, and lastly on Credence and August themselves. "Everyone okay?" She calls out, breathlessly.

"I'll survive" her husband answers, and August finds himself nodding along. "You, Swan?"

"I'm alright. Regina?"

"What the hell was that?" The older woman looks up, fury pulling at her features and turning her face into a fearsome mask. "Who does that guy think he is?"

"His name is Gellert Grindelwald," a new voice replies, seemingly out of nowhere “and whatever he’s planning to do, it isn’t anything good.”

They turn around as one, searching for its source.

The rest of the crowd has long since left. There's no one but the five of them at this point - the five of them and a gaggle of people at the edge of the clearing, looking on the scene before them with far less surprise than one would expect from any newcomers.

August can't help but stare. It just looks too surreal, the way they stand there like tourists gazing at a monument. There are four of them, two men and two women, all between Credence's age and Emma's. The women look quite normal, one dark-haired, the other with gleaming golden curls, and the man hovering uncertainly at the back of the group appears quite at a loss, a sentiment August can relate to immensely.

The other man, though, is a vivid spot of color in an otherwise bleak landscape. He has hair the same red August's used to be when he was a child and a long coat of a bright shade of blue, and he's carrying a large suitcase that has clearly been through some stuff. He must have been the one to speak, because the way the others move around him suggests that either he's their leader or they're a bit wary of what he might say next. Or possibly both at once, especially taking into account the look in one of the women's eyes- the black-haired one, the one that looks a bit older.

The man chances a small, lopsided grin. "I'm sorry. It seems that we were a bit too late."

There's a moment of utter silence where no one seems to know what to say, caught too much off guard to be able to react properly.

Then Regina marches up to the young man, magic already flickering around her right hand, and only stops when she's almost toe-to-toe with him, staring him dead in the eyes even as he tries to squirm away from her gaze.

"Listen to me" she hisses, ignoring the way the two women tense at his back, as if ready to strike as well. August watches the blonde one put a hand on the other’s arm – a warning, or a suggestion. "I'm getting really, really tired of all of this. Either you tell me right now who you are, who your friends are and what is going on in my town, or I'll burn you to a crisp before you can even blink. You have ten seconds."

August has never in his life been so willing to see someone actually satisfy Regina's demands. It’s not very nice of him, he knows, and he has nothing against these people, but it has been a long, long day. There's nothing he wants more than getting some answers beside perhaps dinner, or a bed, or for stuff to stop bursting to pieces the moment he looks elsewhere. And possibly for Credence to receive the same treatment, if he might be so bold.

Which reminds him. He's still holding onto the boy.

"Credence?" He asks, looking down, trying to sound reassuring and not bone tired as he in fact is. "Are you okay? You didn't get hurt, did you?"

Credence doesn't answer. He keeps on staring at the ground as if it were holding the secret to getting a full hour of uninterrupted rest.

Then his knees give out, and August feels himself freeze on the spot as he sees the first tendrils of smoke come out of Credence's body.

Shit. Shit, shit, shit.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I watched both FB movies at least two times and yet I have no memory of anything Grindelwald said while he wasn't wearing Colin Farrell's face. Blacked out on every sentence past the infamous "Do we die, just a little?" or whatever it was. Truly astonishing, and also the reason his scenes probably sound weird to a normal fan (AKA anyone not me or the terrible person this fic is dedicated to).  
> With that in mind, yes, Grindelwald does indeed look like Depp in my fic. For all that his looks were a considerable downgrade from Percival Graves, it doesn't change the fact that his treatment by the hands of Warner Bros was despicable. I hope the person chosen to take his place won't be suffering such a shitty fate.  
> To the people who are still reading this - you're amazing. Also a puzzle because WHAT BROUGHT YOU HERE? What brand of lockdown stress are you working through??? I really, really want to know, but I love you all anyway despite the mystery.  
> See you soon!


	5. And I hope for a trace

August has been long since aware that Blue's first and foremost counsel to him amounts to little more than a bag of horseshit.

_True_ , he can abide to. He has tried to be true to the best of his abilities, at least since the first curse broke. But _selfless_ and _brave_ tend to mix up poorly with whatever fray he joins, because any help he offers he almost always ends up giving through entirely reckless means.

All of which boils down to the fact that once he realizes that Credence is a step away from bursting like an exceedingly dangerous balloon, he does not make the sensible move to run for cover, but instead keeps his arm firmly wrapped around the boy's shoulder.

He doesn't know what compels him to do it. Emma and the others are still standing a little away from them, frozen in shock but at a safe enough distance that they might still be spared. He'd be better off trying to reach them, but all of a sudden he knows that he can't move, that if he took a single step it would be a catastrophe, in more ways than one. It's not dissimilar to the pull he felt towards Storybrooke, back in the day, except now there is no pain, only a dull, quiet acceptance.

"Credence? Can you hear me? "

There is no response, at least no discernible one. Credence's eyes have rolled back into their sockets, showing only the white, and he's shaking so hard his teeth are chattering. It feels like a seizure, except no seizure is strong enough to tear down half a house, if it wants to.

"Credence, listen to me. " August tries to keep his voice steady, though it's getting progressively harder to do so. It's not so different from laying his hand on a live wire - the amount of energy that transpires from the boy's skin is astonishing, and very nearly unbearable, too. August wagers he could defrost some leftovers just by holding them in his hands, right now.

"I'm right here, Credence" he presses on, ignoring the pounding in his head. "If- if you can hear me, it's okay. That man is gone. You're safe. "

A strangled cry escapes Credence's lips. He curls tighter on himself, and August would try rubbing soothing circles on his back, but he's afraid Credence's going to start falling apart if he relents his hold. Besides, they might still be crouching on the floor (and this is going to be hell on his knees - gods, he's getting old, soon enough he'll start making onomatopoeic noises when he gets up like his father does), but August doesn't trust himself not to lose his balance if he compromises his stability now.

"I told you in the forest that I knew you could control it. Prove it to me, Credence. I know you can. And I'm here to help, if you need me. "

Seconds pass with seemingly no difference August shuts his eyes and prays fervently to no deity in particular as the energy surges back and forth, like a tidal wave. _Well, this is it_ , he thinks. His father will probably find a way to bring him back only to kill him again.

Jiminy too, if only because August is one of the reasons why he's going prematurely grey.

While he's pondering about who will get to murder him for a second time, though, something shifts. There is no sudden change, no deafening boom, but rather a slow, halting retreat. At some point, August realizes that he can think more clearly, the pressure growing lighter by the second.

The smoke goes next, dissipating into thin air. Finally, Credence seems to deflate, and then he curls even tighter around himself, wracked by sobs, his face in his hands.

August releases a long, deep breath he hadn't known he'd been holding, and then lays his forehead against the side of Credence's head, exhaustedly relieved. "It's alright. You're alright. You did good."

"I'm sorry" the boy sobs, his fingers tangling in his hair and pulling, so hard it must be painful. "I'm sorry, I'm sorry, I'm sorry. "

"Hush now. It's okay. Nobody's hurt. "

"Credence?"

They look up in unison, only to see the dark-haired woman crouching a few feet from them, low enough to be at eye level with Credence. Both her hands are open, palm upwards, and August recognizes the gesture for what it is - _look_ , it says, _look, they're empty. You're safe. I don't want to hurt you_.

August should have a harder time believing it, considering what they've just gone through, but there's raw, genuine concern on the woman's face, and she doesn't seem poised to strike. Rather, there is something to her stance that suggests she might be as worried as he is, if not more. And she must be hiding a spine under that dusty blue coat of hers, if she managed to avoid Regina's wrath and come so close without paying a hard price for it.

Credence blinks, and then he says, in what can barely qualify as a whisper: "Miss Goldstein?"

Her shoulders sag in poorly concealed relief. "Yes. Yes, it's me, Credence, are you- are you okay?"

"I-" Credence falters, which August thinks he can't be blamed for - his eyes are still shining too brightly, almost feverishly, and he won't stop digging his nails in the already ruined palms of his hands.

August decides to intervene, before the boy clenches his fists hard enough to draw blood. "Do you know these people? "

Credence looks up, scanning the group slowly. His eyes never linger long on anyone, and he doesn't meet August's when he's done, but his voice is vaguely steady when he speaks, so it must count for something, at least. "Miss Goldstein helped me once, when my Ma- when I needed help. And you..." He turns to the man with the red hair. "I remember you, I think. From- from the subway. "

"Yes, you're quite right." The man makes to move forward, but Regina is still leaning perilously close, flames coiling around her hand. "Uh, ma'am, I don't think that will be necessary."

"It's okay, Newt" the young woman that's still guarding his rear says placidly. "She's only worried for her friends. And angry. More angry than worried, I'd say. "

"I don't remember asking you for an opinion" Regina grits out, but her expression flickers for a moment, and she looks vaguely unsettled before she schools it back into her customary scowl. "But you are right, I am angry. Which means no one is going anywhere until I know who the hell you are and what the hell you're doing here."

"Sounds fair." Miss Goldstein stands up, brushing dust off her trousers, and squares her shoulders as she faces the mayor, a grim set to her face. "My name is Tina Goldstein. I'm an Auror working for the Magical Congress of the United States. These are Queenie, my sister, Mr Newt Scamander, a Magizoologist from overseas, and Mr Jacob Kowalski, a...friend."

"I can't do magic, if that helps" the second man-Jacob-supplied.

August sees a muscle in Tina Goldstein's jaw twitch, but she remains remarkably composed. "We've been tracking down a man named Gellert Grindelwald for the past few days, ever since he disappeared from a subway station in New York. We thought he might have taken Credence with him, but I see you've done an admirable job keeping him out of Grindelwald's hands. I would like to know how, by the way, since he managed to elude our best duellists."

There is a beat of silence as her words sink in. Then Hook clears his throat, raises his hand and says: "I didn't understand a single thing you just said, lass. "

"Yeah, well, make it the both of us" Emma adds. "For starters, what is this magical congress you're speaking off? Because we sure as hell don't have that kind of thing around here."

"Tell me you wouldn't have liked that, Swan" Regina scoffs.

"A branch of congress just for magical stuff? You bet. I would have given my firstborn for it. No offense to Henry. "

Tina's impassable mask shatters as it collides with their reactions, and her eyes grow wide. "What- what do you mean you don't know about MacUSA? This is America, is it not? And I've seen you use magic- are you following no regulations at all here?"

"You might say we've got our own rules around here" August replies as he eases Credence back on his feet. The boy sways a bit where he stands, but August keeps a tight grip on him, just in case. "Especially if you come from the same place Credence left. "

"What in Morgana's name-"

"I'm afraid that my earlier hypothesis was right, Miss Goldstein" Scamander calls out. "We might be further away from home than we thought."

"You're right on your money on that one." Credence is still shivering, pale as a ghost. On a whim, August unzips his leather jacket and drapes it over his shoulders, then turns to Emma. "Since you seem to have agreed you don't mean to kill each other just now, can't we move this inside? It's bound to get dark soon. I don't want to be out there at night, if that guy is still around."

Emma opens her mouth to reply, but Tina cuts her of, narrowing her eyes at August. "I am still not sure you're not a threat, actually. Even if you were fighting Grindelwald. We gave you our names, you could at least afford us the same courtesy. "

"Teenie, it's alright." Her sister moves towards her, and Regina begrudgingly lets her through, though she's still eyeing the Scamander guy suspiciously. "They're on our side."

"Well, I don't know about the rest, but talk to him like that again and you'll get on _my_ bad side really fast." Emma is not angry - August has seen her angry, has seen her furious and sad and desperate, and this is a far cry from any of it - but there is something to her voice that suggests this might be no idle threat. "I'm sheriff Emma Swan, and this is Regina Mills, the mayor of this town. So if anyone here is in danger, we're the people you should talk to. "

Hook turns to August with a resigned look on his face. "One would think we deserve some recognition after all the work we did for these heroes, wouldn't they, Booth? "

Emma elbows him in the ribs, but August can't do anything but shrug, though he appreciates the attempt to lighten the mood. He's not sure how he's still standing, but he hopes someone will give both him and Credence some place to sit on sooner rather than later.

Tina Goldstein sighs, dejected. "Alright. Is there somewhere safe we can speak? "

Emma looks at Regina. "Is Henry at mine or yours? "

"Mine. He and Violet are having a movie night. "

"Dammit. Our place, then. Killian?"

Hook nods. "Lead the way. I'll guard the rear and keep an eye out in case anyone gets any ideas. "

"I assure you, there is no need for that. " Scamander doesn't meet anyone's eyes as he speaks, but he doesn't flinch under Hook's cocked eyebrow, as Credence probably would. Instead he nudges his still bewildered friend along, following in Emma's wake. "I'm afraid we will have a lot to talk about."

Emma's house is a sight for sore eyes.

August has been there often, but never was he so glad to be ushered inside with the promise of a cup of coffee. It might have something to do with the fact that usually he tends to wind up on Emma's couch when he's found another terrible show to watch, not because some sorcerer with an obscene sense of style has tried to beat them black and blue.

Once they're there, though, Emma hesitates on the porch, looking at him meaningfully. August slows down, letting Tina Goldstein take Credence by the hand and lead him to the nearest armchair, and then lingers behind with her, leaving the door open.

"Are you alright?" She whispers, and this, this is why they're friends despite everything they've done wrong, the tiny, quick slits of privacy they can carve out even in a crowd. She knows she's more likely to get an honest answer out of him if she talks to him in private, where he can shrug off all the facades he's built out of jokes and easy smiles, and she knows because she is much the same.

"I'm fine" He assures her, and then, because he can't _not_ be a cheeky bastard: "Why wouldn't I be, after you defended me oh-so strenuously, miss Swan?"

She snorts and bumps into him. "I'm serious. Don't you ever do that again. I don't want to lose you to another spell, even if it was an accident."

"Says the one who was fighting what apparently is an evil wizard. "

"It was three against one, and Regina has more experience than this guy can hope to have. And I can protect myself. You, on the other hand..."

"I'll do my best not to turn into wood again, alright? Or a child. Or a wooden child. That should cover all bases." August leans against the doorframe, checking inside from the corner of his eye in case there's another crisis. "So? What do you think about these people?"

Emma sighs, shaking her head. "I have no idea. If they'd wanted us dead they would have gotten rid of us before we left the woods, but that's as low as a bar can get. Credence knows them, though, so..."

"I didn't think you trusted Credence that much."

"I don't, but I've learnt to trust your instincts, and you seem to have taken him under your wing, so my hands are tied. And my superpower hasn't activated on them, so they're not lying." She pauses for a moment. "Yet."

August has to smile at that. "Well, then, let's see what they have in store for us."

"As I said before" Tina Goldstein begins, once they walk in "the man you were fighting - Grindelwald, that is - is an extremely dangerous individual. Even as far as wizards go he's one of the most powerful. We'd only barely caught him before he managed to escape and come here."

"How?" Emma asks, moving to stand beside her husband, who's leaning against the nearest wall with his arms crossed. August elects to sit down next to Credence, instead, close enough that the young man could reach out for him if he so wished.

"How what?"

"How did he get here? Or you, for that matter? I don't know if you've noticed, but we're quite far from 1926 New York, which I assume is where you come from."

"Well, we-" Tina cuts herself off abruptly, sending Emma another look dripping with disbelief. "Why would you specify the year? What's the point in that?"

Before anyone has a chance to answer, Queenie lets out a tiny little gasp, covering her mouth with a finely manicured hand. She's sitting on Credence's other side, but her eyes slide past him to land on Emma instead, wide with wonder. "So it's true? I wasn't sure if I'd got that right, but- this is the future? Truly?"

"Apparently" Regina replies with a long-suffering sigh. "2017, for the sake of details."

Tina stammers something, mouth opening and closing, then turns an outraged look on Scamander. "You didn't mention that there was a chance of time travel when we crossed that door!"

"A door?" Regina raises an eyebrow. "What is this, Exit West? The last few magic doors we had to deal with didn't bring us anything good."

"I didn't mention it because I didn't know" Scamander says, looking vaguely offended by the implication. "And no, it wasn't a door. It was...a portal might be the closest thing to it? A portal conveniently shaped like a door."

"Wait, wait, hold on" Hook interrupts him, waving a hand. "Start from the beginning, lad, I'm already lost."

"Sorry, I'm afraid the story won't get any better. But...well, the long and the short of it is that when MacUSA captured Grindelwald, it was only an accident. What they were after - or who, more accurately - was Credence. Grindelwald had been hiding in the guise of MacUSA's Director of Magical Security for a while, so nobody expected him to attack us until it was already too late."

A small, choked-up whimper leaves Credence’s mouth, low enough that August doubts anyone else might have heard it. He's still wearing August's jacket, and it dwarfs him somehow, despite August not being that huge a man. His neck is thin as a swan's where it peeks above the collar, and his face is pale and drawn, his eyes trained to the floor.

August scuttles closer, just in case the situation escalates. He's never thought of himself as a calming influence, but one plays the hand he's been dealt, right? Besides, everyone else is still staring at Newt Scamander in sombre silence, too caught up in the story to notice. It would almost resemble a gaggle of children gathering around their teacher for storytime, if children were used to having to save the world approximately twice a month.

"Credence had...he had lost control, I think. We tried to find him, but Grindelwald found us instead. We took him down and unmasked him, but MacUSA deemed Credence too dangerous, so they tried to dispose of him as well."

"It didn't work, though" Emma says, frowning.

Scamander shakes his head. "No. What happened was that where the spells collided with Credence's Obscurus - that's its name, Credence, that's the magic inside you - it created something that I still can't quite explain. Like- like a gap where reality should have been. It absorbed Credence and Grindelwald both, and then it vanished before we could follow."

"Magic like that leaves a trace, though" Tina interjects. "We tracked its remains down, and managed to conjure another entrance out of it. Queenie said it looked like a mirror, but Newt and I both saw a door."

"I saw a wardrobe" Jacob says, suddenly, and then adds, with less confidence, once he realizes all eyes are on him: "A wardrobe door, that is. Like the one me and my siblings used to hide in when we were small."

August chances a glance sideways and meets Emma's eyes, her alert expression a mirror of his own. There have been only two instances of world-crossing passages hidden in wardrobes in all their adventures, but both involved the two of them more than any other, and it has to matter something, surely - if there's anything years of life in Storybrooke has taught them, it's that nothing happens by chance.

"Whatever it was" Tina begins again "it led us here. Newt had warned us that we might wind up in a somewhat different place, but we hadn't expected the future to be involved. Nor did we expect to find other witches fighting Grindelwald in our place. I take it we're no longer in hiding, in this century?"

"I'd suggest not trying to compare your situation to ours, Miss Goldstein" Regina says, her lips stretched in a thin smile. "There are no wizard and witches in this house."

Tina snorts derisively. "Of course. And that wasn't magic we saw you doing, only hand tricks for gullible children. What are you, then, if not witches?"

"A queen, actually. And a saviour, a pirate, and a-"

"-writer-"

"-meddlesome puppet. The only witch around here is my sister, and good luck calling her that now that her baby's been keeping up all night, her patience is stretched thin as it is. And the last wizard...I think we stuffed him in a box?"

"A hat" Emma corrects distantly. "It was a hat. Again."

Tina looks back and forth between the two women for a solid minute, as if trying to determine whether they're making her the butt of some joke. Then she throws up her hands, distressed, and exclaims "What is this place, then? While we were coming here nobody spared us a glance, and one would think we'd be noticed, if we're really in the future. And the people around here - I saw a man sprinting down the road in full armour, for Circe's sake! What is this, some elaborate recreation of medieval times, witches included? Shall we be burned at the stake, next, or are we in one of Beedle the Bard's fairytales and I just didn't notice?"

The silence that follows is even more deafening than before. August presses his lips together, struggling not to laugh, and he's almost convinced he won't make it when Emma clears her throat, steps forward with an apologetic look on her face and begins "Well, actually..."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> That scene right after August got turned back into a man and he has to suppress his laughter when Regina insults Cruella lives in my head rent free because it's exactly what I would do in a life or death situation, so I had to let him stay on brand.   
> Also, believe it or not, I know where this story is going for the next two or three chapters, so expect a quicker update next time (university work notwithstanding).  
> Love you! See you soon!


	6. And the rivers were none

"This is madness. I can't believe it" Tina says, once they've summed up the past two centuries or so of shared history.

Which August can't blame her for, to be honest. If they had the leisure to spend a few hours debating the credibility of their claim, they might have quite the interesting discussion.

Sadly, there is a strange man loose on Storybrooke grounds and they have yet to consider what his mission might be, so he’s already leaning forward, ready for a polite, if firm rebuttal when Jacob makes a little _ahem_ noise and pipes up, "I do, actually. "

Half a dozen heads swivel around to look at him, and he gives a small, tense smile. "Oh, come on. Two days ago I didn't even know that witches were a thing, and now we're in the future. Fairy tales being real doesn't tip the scales much, I think."

Queenie beams at him, and Scamander seems to be hiding a bemused grin, but Agent Goldstein (or whatever her title is, honestly the matter has become a bit blurry) scoffs, throwing up her hands. "Yes, but- Snow White's daughter? Really? I know you're new to all of...this, but we have to draw the line somewhere. "

"Do we? " Scamander says, cheerfully enough for someone who Regina is still keeping under close scrutiny. "I rather think we'd be better off being a little more open minded. "

"Mr Booth?"

The voice is so soft August almost misses it entirely in the bickering that ensues, but his ears perk up anyway, and he looks to the side to see Credence turned slightly towards him, albeit with his eyes downcast once more.

He chances a smile. "It's still August, Credence. What's the matter? "

"If- if this is true...if you all come from stories, then what is yours? Sir? I know I shouldn't ask, but you didn't mention anything, and-"

August raises a hand before the boy can work himself up any further. "It's alright. I didn't say because I didn't think you'd know it, not in the place and time you were born. I'm Pinocchio - nice to meet you, it seems. Again."

"Oh, I've heard of that" Newt cuts in, visibly interested. "Italian, isn't it? I think I picked up a copy when I went to hear Professor De Martino's lecture about breaking spider curses."

"I've never heard that name in my entire life" Tina deadpans.

"It doesn't surprise me at all, to be honest" August concedes. "If your New York is anything like ours, that tale won't reach its American audience for another dozen years, until the Disney movie comes out. Although for your sake I hope it never does. "

"August has a vendetta against that movie" Emma supplies to a speechless Credence, with the resigned air of someone who's been repeating the same thing for the past three years.

As, admittedly, she has.

"It didn't get anything right, Emma. And Jiminy didn't flirt with nearly so many women when he was with me. "

"Yes, August, I _know_. "

Regina clears her throat pointedly. "If we've reached an agreement on whether we're all losing our minds, perhaps we might return to the matter at hand?"

"I'm not sure we should be following the Evil Queen's lead" Tina replies, still clearly sceptical. "If your story is true, that is. "

Regina rolls her eyes. "Believe me, if these idiots have managed not to get themselves incinerated in six years, I'm sure you'll be able to survive the next ten minutes. And even if I were still evil, which I am not, then I'd be the perfect match for this Grindelwald guy."

Tina narrows her eyes, before her gaze moves to meet Queenie's, who nods imperceptibly. The elder Goldstein sister exhales deeply, then turns back to Regina. "Okay, then. What could he be looking for in this world? "

"I don't know. What was his goal in yours? "

"World domination? Reign of terror? You name it. He has a long list of murders and other crimes to his name, and he was trying to make the non-magical population aware of the existence of witches and wizards so that they might be afraid of us. But from what I saw, that shouldn't be a problem here. "

"We're a rather peculiar town on that front" Regina says in dismay. "Are you telling me I should consider barring all ways out of Storybrooke before he tries to enchant the whole Tri-State area?"

"I'm telling you that even if he's alone right now, we shouldn't lower our guard. He's more charismatic than he lets out, and he could fashion a weapon out of anything." Tina crosses her arms before herself. "That gate he popped out of. Where does it lead? And what's down there? "

"The mines? Not much beside dirt and leftover dynamite and... " Regina trails off for a moment, and then her eyes grow wide. "Right. Of course. The fairy dust. "

"I'm sorry? " Queenie speaks up. "You have fairies here too?"

"Tragically" August and Regina intone in unison.

"Yeah, and we had a great deal of fairy dust under there for a while" Emma adds, glowering at the both of them. "Along with almost every magical artefact in town, at one point or another. Dark hearts. Portals to another world. A dragon."

"Dragons? Here?"

"Yes, and one taught me how to shoplift when I was fifteen" Emma snaps, before the glimmer in Scamander's eyes can cause the discussion to descend into chaos once more. "The point is, there aren't many places as full of leftover magic as the mines are. Gold's shop, maybe, or your...collection, Regina, but both are concealed far better than the mines are, because everyone knows there's nothing left to steal down there. This guy doesn't, though - could it be that he thought he might find something to use?"

"It's certainly possible." Regina purses her lips, lost in thought. "Could he use it, though? I didn't see much of his magic, but there was something abnormal about it. Different. Not- not Light Magic versus Dark Magic as we've seen it here. Something else entirely."

"I suspect this has something to do with us as a whole" Tina sighs. "With this...coming from a different world thing. But if there's anyone able to twist someone else's magic to make himself more powerful, that's Grindelwald. Especially considering he's at a disadvantage here - he has no allies, no knowledge of the field, and his power might still be hampered somehow. He might not be grasping at straws yet, but if he can locate any tool that might help him, he will."

Emma pulls a face. "So what? We put a protection spell over anyone with a magical item in town? Might as well cover the whole area."

"Oh, believe me, I will." Regina rolls her shoulders, as if preparing for some strenuous work. "I'll call for a town meeting, so that everyone will be on alert. I'll close the roads, too - no one gets in, no one gets out. Again. But first I'll call my sister and Gold and see if they've seen anything strange, or if they have any idea on how to help. And if they can see that Henry and his little friend are safe while they're at it, all the better."

She clenches her jaw, and something flashes in her eyes, hard and dangerous. "I don't know who this Grindelwald thinks he is, but if he steps out of line, he'll regret trying it in my town. Wizard or not."

Regina departs soon after, once the finer points of their plan have been cleared up. As soon as the door closes behind her, Emma sighs, her shoulders dropping, and then she turns to the group still gathered in her house. "Well. I suppose we'll need to sort out sleeping arrangements."

"Shouldn't we stay on alert?" Tina argues. "Not that I don't trust your friend, but I doubt she'll be able to face Grindelwald alone if needs be."

"Listen, Regina is made of stronger stuff than you think. And she put a spell on herself before she even left. We'll know as soon as it happens, if she gets in trouble. We can set up a guard rotation if you prefer, but we should take the time to rest now that we have the chance. I for one am exhausted, and correct me if I'm wrong, but I think you haven't had much sleep in the last few days, have you?"

"Teenie, she's right" Queenie interjects, laying a hand on her sister's arm. "You need to rest. So do the boys, even if they want to pretend otherwise."

Jacob stammers something, while Newt simply shakes his head, defeated. August can't help but smile at the sight, but it falls as soon as he lays eyes on Credence again. The boy is still huddled on the couch, his fingers digging in the flesh just above his knees, and the air of misery hangs around him like a thick, suffocating fog. There seems no way out of it, or at least, nothing that doesn't imply a year-long therapy run, which they don’t have the time for even if it might be the most sensible choice

August catches Emma's attention, then gestures inconspicuously towards Credence. Luckily, she catches on easily enough, and she says out loud, to no one in particular: "August, I think you and Credence can share the guest bedroom. You know the way, don't you?"

"Yeah, of course" he replies, which is true enough. He's spent an embarrassing amount of nights crashing on Emma's spare bed, for countless reasons varying from not trusting himself to drive after a few drinks or a need for either of them to have a shoulder to cry on. Emma has a greater support group than he has, but sometimes it's hard to find someone who might understand their peculiar life stories, and even Hook knows better than to intrude when he comes home to find them wasting the night away talking.

"That's settled, then. The rest of you, I'm afraid you'll have to squeeze somewhere else. My couch isn't the most comfortable thing ever, but..."

"I don't think that will be necessary." Under their perplexed stares, Scamander sets down his suitcase and crouches before it, undoing the latches. "Some of the Occamys are in need of a feeding anyway, I might as well show you around."

"What do you mean?"

"I'm a Magizoologist, Sheriff Swan. My job is to study and tend to magical creatures. And in order to take care of my creatures properly, I had to figure out a way to take them with me during my travels."

Emma raises an eyebrow, unimpressed. "You're telling me you have animals in there? And- and spare beds, too?"

"Come on, don't be so sceptical" August says, the urge to bother her stronger than any shock he might be feeling at the moment. "Remember the magic hat."

"Magic hats. Plural. And I would never be able to forget them, thank you very much, but that doesn't mean I want to believe in a whole zoo stuffed up in a box."

Begrudgingly, August has to admit she's right. It wouldn't be the strangest thing they've seen, but the idea of a bunch of enchanted beasts shrunk down to fit in a worn-out leather case is a bit too far-fetched for his taste as well. Not to mention vaguely unethical.

While they bicker, though, Scamander manages to open the case. Inside, instead of a few layers of clothes, wands or whatever it is that people generally travel with in their parallel universe, there's a ladder descending into a room whose bottom is at least four feet deeper underground than the floor in Emma's living room.

"I'll go in first, if you don't mind" he says, matter-of-factly. "Some of them are a little wary of strangers. Which I think is fair, considering what has happened to them in the past."

Emma, August and Hook stare at suitcase for a long minute before the captain grimaces and turns to the other two. "Are you sure we need to go in there?"

Emma chews at her bottom lip. "To spend the night? Not likely. To check that they don't have this Grindelwald hiding in a pocket universe somewhere? I'm afraid we must."

Newt looks unimpressed, but Emma ignores him and raises a finger. "One second."

She disappears into the closet, and after a few seconds of rummaging she returns, a belt with a sword scabbard attached to it dangling from her hand. "Now we can go" she says, fastening the belt around her hips.

There is more than a tinge of agitation in Scamander's eyes now, and his tone is wary as he speaks. "There is no need for that, Sheriff. Some of my colleagues at the Ministry of Magic may think of my creatures as monsters, but none of them are dangerous if not provoked."

"Oh, I'm not worried about these fantastic beasts or whatever you want to call them. It's more of an insurance policy, in case your friends up here decide to lock us up after you've lured us in. I'm sorry for the precaution, but the track record of people telling me to go down a tunnel is not really great, and this town wasn't anywhere so peaceful until a few months ago." She fixes him with a stony glare. "Don't worry, I won't draw blade on anything that isn't already trying to bite my head off first. Now, shall we?"

He shakes his head, clearly still upset, but he turns around and starts his descent. Emma follows suit, with Hook close behind. Jacob clambers down after them, and so does Tina, once she's exchanged a glance with Queenie.

August hesitates, still dubious. It's not that he fears what might be in that case, but he has had a couple too many experiences with animals imbued with magic. Hell, he almost was one of them, and only escaped by the skin of his teeth. Lampwick wasn't so lucky, and neither were dozens of other kids, so if there's anything even vaguely resembling a donkey down there, he's liable to start screaming.

A hand lands on the crook of his elbow, long-fingered and gentle, jolting him out of his reverie. When he turns, Queenie is smiling reassuringly up at him.

"Don't worry. I've been in there before, and there's no trace of donkeys. Or whales, for that matter. Newt's creatures are odd, but they're harmless, and he cares about them a lot. You don't have anything to be afraid of."

August blinks at her, stunned, struggling to form a coherent sentence. "Wait, what? How did you- Did you just read my mind?" And then, after a moment: "Of course you did. So that's what you were doing with Regina out there, right? Is this a thing witches in your world do?"

Queenie scoffs. "It's not exactly something I do. There are spells for that, sure, but I was born a Legillimens. It happens whether I want it or not. I'm sorry, I did not want to freak you out." She pauses, then shrugs. "I know you want to say I didn't, but it's alright. I'd be surprised if you took it calmly."

"It's a bit of a hard blow at this time of day, I'll admit. But, I mean, my closest friend is roaming around a suitcase with a sword. Your sister had a face-off with the Evil Queen. At this point I doubt anything could shake me anymore. And I don't know if you saw that as well, but I tend to tell the truth in any case, mind-readers or not. It's a bit of a weak spot for me."

She laughs, high and quick. It's a nice sound, infectious, and August finds himself smiling in return. "Yes, I don't think I would have gotten any lies out of you either way. That's why I told you first. You seemed the easiest to trust. And- oh, no, don't say that. Emma trusts you plenty enough. And so does Captain Jones, though he doesn't like to say it."

August, who'd been on the verge of quipping _Well that's the first time anyone has said that to me_ , can't help but stare speechlessly as she chatters on, filling the voids herself. "Now I can see you're itching to check in on your friends, so maybe we should go." She spins on her heels, her grin dimmed down but no less genuine. "Credence, honey, are you coming?"

Credence raises his head slowly at being addressed so directly, but his gaze is still vacant, and he seems to be having a hard time focusing on them. "I- I don't know if that's a good idea."

"Hey." August draws nearer and extends a hand, hoping he can sound reassuring enough. "It's okay. We'll be there with you all along. And if it becomes too much, we can always leave again- whatever it is that Mr Scamander has in there, I bet you want to see them more than I do. I'm getting too old for all this excitement."

"You're not old" Credence protests feebly, pressing his lips into a thin line right afterwards, but he seems comforted by the words all the same. He hesitates a couple seconds more, and then he takes August's hand, letting himself pulled up from the couch and towards the case.

It's a start, at least. Still, August goes first, and watches carefully where the younger man puts his hands and feet. It wouldn't be good for anyone if he had a bout of dizziness and lost his footing, plummeting down headfirst.

And once they've landed safely, well, there's too much going on for the both of them to think about it any longer.

Scamander hadn't lied - there's space enough for a few beds, and assorted bedrooms along with them. In truth, it seems no less than four or five Storybrooke neighborhoods could fit comfortably inside the suitcase, streets and all. After a small, office-like room, the rest is all in the open, decked out in various styles to suit different environments, stretching indefinitely towards the horizon.

There are cliffs and ponds and small forests, and a desert, too, if August's not mistaken, the sun glaring in his eyes when he stands on his tiptoes to see further away. As he and Credence walk, a great number of terrains crunch under their feet, dead leaves and mud clashing with dusty ground and the most bizarre plants he's seen in his life.

And the creatures! There are new ones everywhere they look, scuttling around their ankles and curling in shadowy corners. A monkey-like animal stares owlishly at them before disappearing from view, white fur vanishing to reveal the tree branches behind it. The chatter is almost unbearably loud, screeches and murmurs and even a distant roar muddling together in a cacophony that never quiets down.

It's impossible. It's _incredible_ , and everywhere they turn there is more to see.

"Bigger on the inside, indeed" August breaths out, amazed. He'd expected lots of stuff, but nothing close to this.

He sneaks a glance at Credence. The boy has a look of clear wonder on his face, one August thinks must be mirrored on his own, and all doubt seems to have faded, leaving his stance open and unguarded. His mouth is slightly agape, and his eyes shine in a way that would have been unthinkable only moments ago, drinking in everything at once.

August smiles, something warm and fond settling in his chest. "So. What do you think of all of this?"

Credence turns to him, and though his expression wavers, the admiration is still there as he speaks. "It looks like Heaven. Like- like I always imagined it ought to be. Not what my Ma told me."

"Well, I don't know about the Scriptures" August says, nudging him along as he spots the others "but if Heaven's anything like this, I'll be happy to kick the bucket."

The whole group is gathered around what looks like a small tree. Tina and Newts seem absorbed in their conversation, while Hook keeps looking around, as if expecting something to pounce on him from among the leaves. Emma, though, is staring intently at the tree itself, and following her gaze prompts August to draw closer, mesmerized.

There are all manners of small, thin creatures climbing up and down the trunk, not dissimilar to stick-insects, though thicker and weirder in form. They're green as the grass beneath, standing on two legs like little men, and they have long, thin fingers and beady-eyed faces looking up at them with suspicion. August thinks they would resemble Jiminy quite a lot, if someone were to fetch hats and three-piece suits for all of them.

He feels someone staring at him, and he turns to see Emma looking at him with an unreadable expression. He scoffs. "Shut up."

"I didn't say anything."

"You were about to."

"I really wasn't. In fact, I was thinking these guys look a lot like Archie, like I remember him in the Wish Realm."

August blinks in surprise, then his face splits in a bright grin, one Emma returns instantly. Savior or not, it's always good to know she's willing to be as stupid as he is sometimes.

"Are you satisfied that we aren't hiding anything suspicious?" Scamander asks drily, forcing them to tear their eyes from the tree.

Emma sighs. "Yes, I think. Again, sorry for doubting you, but I couldn't help it. If you'd been in Storybrooke long enough, you'd have doubts about anyone's basement as well."

"I understand, though I hope you never feel the need to take that sword down there again." His lips curl in amusement. "Besides, Miss Goldstein thought I was harboring something dangerous in my case too, at first."

"Try to see it from my point of view" Tina protests. "A mysterious force had been tearing down my city. You'd just arrived in New York. What else was I supposed to think?"

"It was me, wasn't it?"

A sudden, sombre silence falls after the voice unexpectedly pipes up. All eyes turn to Credence, who stands a little away from them as though awaiting the firing squad, his hands clenched in tight fists as if to stop them from trembling.

"What do you mean?" Emma asks, not unkindly.

"The force. The creature, in New York. It was- it was me, right? I did all of that."

"Yes, Credence. I'm sorry." Newt begins to step closer, slowly, without any brusque movements. His voice is calm and gentle, and his hands are open and loose at his sides, far from the wand stashed in his coat pocket.

He's good at it, August thinks. But then again, he must be, if he really was the one to tame all of these beasts.

"You see, we know it wasn't your fault" Scamander continues. "What happened to you wasn't fair. But it's something that you can learn to control, if what happened with Mr Booth is of any indication. And I've been trying to find a way to separate you from your Obscurus for a while now, so there might be another choice."

"It's only...Mr Graves - or, or Grindelwald, I don't know what I should call him - said that it had to be a child. Someone younger. He thought it was Modesty. My sister."

"That's because before you, no Obscurial was ever recorded to have lived past the age of ten" Tina says, answering the unspoken question. "You're...well, Credence, you're almost a miracle."

Credence, August realizes, is run through by a slight tremor upon hearing the last words, but Agent Goldstein doesn't seem to notice, instead pressing on with her reply. "And you can use both, don't worry. It depends of which one of them you think you were talking to."

That seems to be the straw that breaks the camel's back. Credence's head whips up, and his eyes grow wide, startled. "What? But I thought- you said Grindelwald had taken his place."

Tina nods. "He did. But- you remember when I tried to help you? When your mother's memory had to be wiped down? Mr Graves came to find you not long after, didn't he?"

Credence gives a jerky nod, and she continues. "We know for sure that back then, Grindelwald was still in prison. He only came to New York some time later. So I think, Credence, that you met both, one after the other."

The young man swallows, hard, his Adam's apple bobbing in his throat. He nods again, once, and then looks away from them, staring at the tree as though he might see the future in it.

There's something wrong with the whole thing. He's too still, too frozen where he is, even for someone who has just learned he met two people wearing the face of a single one. August would like to know, to pull him close and ask what is going on, but he has a hunch it would be worse than trying to pry a sealed can open bare-handed.

And what questions would he ask, anyway? He has no clue who Mr Graves was for Credence, though it seems that that might be the problem at hand. There is no place for him to make conjectures, or at least, not without risking making the whole matter worse. And besides, who is he to ask? He's barely known Credence for a full day, chance encounter outside the workshop aside. Who knows if the boy would even appreciate the help.

So August grits his teeth, stores the information away, and nods along when the others move on with their conversation.

_Later_ , he vows.

_Later_.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter should be titled "101 synonyms for the word _say_ ".  
> Hello! It seems we're here again! Not much to say about this chapter except that I spent an entire afternoon wrapping it up instead of studying for an exam that is less than three days away and that I am not ready for. Send help.  
> If you're still here, thank you for reading! Love you!


	7. Holy light over the night

The first thing August does upon climbing out of the suitcase is show Credence how the shower in the guest bathroom works. If there's anything Credence needs, it's a good wash, more for the chance to be alone than the cleanliness itself (though that must certainly be a plus). The boy is still too quiet, his movements too slow and wary when the others' focus turns on him. Perhaps a mild existential crisis under a warm spray of water will do him good, as it has August at numerous times in his life.

The second is stand at the door leading to the spare bedroom in Emma's house, as Emma presses a pile of clean clothes in his hands.

"These don't fit Killian anymore, but the kid's skinny - they'll be good enough for him. And there's some stuff for you too, in case you want to change. "

August chances a smile. "Thanks. Though I think I'll go home for a bit tomorrow, if I can, and grab some things before the house collapses. Even if we were to solve the problem tonight, I'm afraid I'd still need to stay at Granny's for a while until the roof's stable enough. "

"You know you can stay here as long as you need, right? I'm not about to kick you out of my house just yet."

"As long as you don't need some romantic privacy with your husband, you mean."

Emma rolls her eyes at him. " _Very_ funny, August. Sometimes I wonder why you didn’t take up a career in comedy instead of writing."

She makes as if to leave, then she hesitates, her expression shifting into something unreadable. The sword is still at her hip, and she fidgets with the pommel as she speaks, as if trying to rub its golden lining away. "Just...look after him, will you? We have some big days ahead of us, and he'll need to be well rested if we want him to help. "

"You think he'll freak out once he’s alone?"

"I think he's in a very dark place right now, whatever it is that happened to him. You know how hard it is to get some sleep when you think the whole world's out to get you. And you're as familiar with bad nightmares as I am. I trust you to know how to handle it, but I'll be down the hallway if you need some backup. "

She's struck a nerve - but she's right, nevertheless, as she often is. August nods, and then as she closes the door he moves back towards the bathroom, plastering his best attempt at a cheerful smile on his face as he walks in.

"Here you go, Credence, clean and fresh-"

He doesn't knock. He doesn't even think of knocking, because he would never have thought Credence might break out of his stupor quickly enough to undress before he returned, and it slipped his mind, besides, what with Emma's words still ringing in his ears. He only realizes his mistake when he has to stop mid-sentence, his fingers still clutching the door handle.

Credence's jacket and waistcoat are laid neatly on the dirty laundry basket, August notes numbly, folded with a precision one wouldn't think to associate with the young man's long, shaking fingers. He's in the midst of shrugging off his shirt when the door opens, and he can't pull it back up fast enough to hide what lies underneath.

He's so skinny his bones seem about to break through, sharp and jutting out under the pale skin of his back, but that's not the problem, or at least not the most immediate one. What catches the eye are the dozens of scars that crisscross his body from collarbone to waist, so many that August can't even try to count them all.

Some are thick as tendons, the skin raising across Credence's shoulder blades - those seem to be the most prominent ones, or maybe they just stand out the most, their pink-reddish hue a stark contrast to what surrounds them. Others are nothing more than fine white lines, almost invisible until the light catches on them as Credence turns around, wide-eyed and startled like a deer caught in the headlights.

They stare at each other for a long moment, both unsure of what the next move should be. Then August lowers his eyes and clears his throat, a belated attempt at privacy, and sets the pile of clothes on the edge of the sink, already backtracking. "I'll be in the next room if you need anything else."

He all but slams the door behind his back, heart hammering in his chest. A million thoughts race around his brain, each more troubling than the last, and he sinks on the mattress he and Killian have dragged inside, sitting on the opposite side to the actual bed in the room.

He should have expected something like this to be true. The scars on Credence's hands should have been clue enough, and the boy hasn't led an easy life - the dark magic would be bad on its own, but there's more. There's always more, August has seen enough of various worlds to read between the lines and know what the truth behind Credence's jumbled words and sullen silence might be.

But...knowing is one thing. Seeing for himself is quite another. His stomach rolls and rolls and gives no sign it might stop anytime soon, and August has to clench his teeth against the need to be sick, Credence's look of fear and shame still flashing before his eyes.

He calls his father, for lack of anything better to do. The need to hear someone not involved in this mess speaking is too strong, and he should have done it hours ago, besides. That he forgotten at all shows how far from a diligent son he still is, and that thought alone is enough for the guilt to start trickling back in almost immediately, a slow stillicide.

It should be too late for anyone to be awake, but Geppetto picks up immediately, and there's palpable relief in his voice, urgent that its tone might be. "August! Where were you? I thought something had happened to you!"

August exhales deeply, trying to will himself to calm down. "I'm sorry, Papa. I should have called sooner. I was- I was busy."

"But where are you? Archie told me about that man at the mines, but he didn't see you afterwards. Are you okay?"

"I'm fine. I'm just...helping Emma with this thing, okay? I can't explain much, but there are people who need my help. I'm afraid we won't be able to see each other much for a few days."

There's a pause on the other end of the line. Then his father says, slowly: "Regina said to spread the word, so that everyone will be on alert. She said there'll be a meeting at the town hall, first thing in the morning. Do you- are we in danger? Is there something she didn't tell us?"

"I'm sure Regina will clear that up tomorrow. Emma and I will be there too, to help her explain."

"Pinocchio." There must be a definition for it, for the dread that fills him every time Geppetto calls him by his real name, the way other parents might pull out their children’s full names when they smell trouble in the air. August hasn't heard him use it in ages, and still he would recognize it anywhere, that no-nonsense, I-know-that-you're-lying-long-nose-or-not tone of voice that only comes out in special occasions. "Are we in danger?"

August sighs. "Not yet. But- keep your eyes open, Papa, alright? I don't know what's going to happen next."

"Now you sound like the father, and me the son" Geppetto chuckles drily. "I’ll be fine. Archie has offered me hospitality for the time being. You, on the other hand…”

“I’m as safe as I can be. Emma and Regina have the situation well in hand, and I’m not as defenceless as one might think.”

“I’m only asking that you be careful, son. I don't want to lose you again."

Emma said much the same, except in her voice was missing the light accusation that now reverberates through his father's words. August clenches his jaw, resists the urge to spit back something disrespectful. "I promise I'll do my best."

They chat for a couple minutes more, but any remains of calm have dissipated from August's mind. He hangs up after a curt goodnight, and then lets the phone flop on the mattress beside himself, groaning loudly. Welp, that didn't help in the slightest. If anything, it's just made matters worse, because now the anger he felt seeing Credence's ruined body has grown louder and less coherent, simmering under the surface of his thoughts. Count on his father to set him on edge once and for all.

He lays on his back, staring at the ceiling and listening to Credence fumble with the shower, until he hears the door opening once more. He turns around deliberately slowly at that, as not to startle the boy, and takes in the sight before him.

The pants he's been borrowed are a good inch or two too short for Credence, and the shirt has a faded print of some half-forgotten rock band on it, marking it as Emma's possession rather than Killian's. All in all, the outfit makes him look closer to his real age than anything else, like a tired college student on laundry day, his raggedly cut hair still damp and sticking up in odd places.

He stands there for a couple minutes, looking from the bed to August's sprawled form. His mouth opens and closes a few times, as if he wanted to protest which one of them ought to sleep on the floor, but then his shoulders sag and he climbs on the bed, turning to face the wall.

"You can turn off the light, if you want" August says softly, after a moment. "I bet you need all the sleep you can get."

There is no response, but a few seconds later there is a faint _click_ as the lamp on the bedside table is switched off, and the room plunges into darkness.

_I'm not going to fall asleep_ , August realizes, after a good five minutes of tense silence. Adrenaline is still pumping in his blood at full speed, and he's reached that point where his tiredness goes full circle and he's not tired anymore, just a few hours of sleep deprivation away from starting a one-man dance party in Emma's basement.

He's almost talked himself into going back downstairs to see if Hook might still have some of that good pirate rhum, even though he's supposed to have grown past that sort of needs and there'd be quite a few people upset that he still counts getting drunk as a worthy solution to his problems, when Credence speaks again, low voice carrying through the otherwise silent room. "I- Mr Booth, I'm-"

It dawns on August that the boy must be scrambling to give an explanation for what he's seen in the bathroom, and suddenly the fury is gone, washed away by an intense sadness that's only slightly tinged with the need to run over whoever is responsible for this with his bike. He turns around, but he can't make out Credence's face in the dark - all he sees is a shapeless lump laying above what he knows to be the bed.

Well. Perhaps it's for the best. Secrets are best told in the dark, after all, and so are harsh truths.

"You don't have to say anything, Credence" he says, low and firm. "You don't have to tell me a damn thing if you don't want to share. I'm sorry that I barged in, okay, and I get it, I really do. Your secrets are yours to keep, and I'm not about to tell anyone unless you want me to. And- listen, it's just me and you here. Whoever made you feel like you have to apologize for every single thing, or that I’ll have your head if I think you’re disrespecting me, they're not here now. You can call me August. I feel like we're past that point, all things considered."

There's a pause where he thinks his motivational speaking might have not had any effect, but then Credence speaks again, slow and halting. "It's just- my mother used to say I must never presume. Especially to- to people I owed something to."

August snorts. "And I bet she was first and foremost of those people you owed stuff to, right? Correct me if I'm wrong, but your mother doesn't seem the most amiable person in the world. And you don't owe anyone anything, kid. We're helping you because we want to. And Emma's getting another kick at this savior thing with Grindelwald, so she'll probably thank you for that at some point."

He'd meant it as a joke, but Credence doesn't seem to realize - he goes really quiet once more, and then he chokes out, "I didn't mean to bring him here, I swear. I just- I just wanted to leave. I didn't want to go back there with her."

"You don't have to. Storybrooke welcomes everyone - you can stay for the rest of your life, if you want. I know you feel like you've done terrible things, but that was the case for almost everyone here up until a few months ago. Redemption arcs are what we do. You can trust me on that - I'm a writer, I deal with that kind of stuff for a living."

"My Ma said I would never get redeemed." The words are spoken softly, but with an heart-breaking certainty, as though they were the gospel truth. "I tried my best, but I never managed to get it right. She kept punishing me, but it didn't work. She said I must be rotten inside."

August closes his eyes, takes a deep, deep breath, pushing the nausea away when it comes rolling back. "And you think you deserved it?"

"I don't know. Miss Goldstein thought I didn't, but there must be a reason for it, doesn't it? And this- this magic- I didn't want to do so much harm, but I did. So maybe...maybe my mother was right. Maybe she could feel it, what I was doing in New York."

"Hold on." _Breathe in, breathe out. Focus. No sudden moves_. "How long did she go on like that?"

"Since she adopted me, I think? I don't remember, I was too small at the time. It wasn't so bad at the beginning, but when we took Chastity in - my sister - she did everything right at first try, so I had to keep pace with her. But I couldn't. She was- she was perfect, and I wasn't. I wasn't praying hard enough or, or helping hard enough in the church, or I had sinful thoughts. At the end, before I- before I left, she said my mother, my real mother, had been a wicked woman. An unnatural one, and that I was just like her. And that- that must have been the magic, she only ever spoke like that about witches and whores, so there must have been some right to her words, mustn’t it, else I don't know how to explain any of it."

It's like an abrupt overflow of water, a cascade of words, more than Credence has ever said in one sitting. The silence almost startles August when it comes, sudden as it is, but by that point the damage is done, and the bed creaks under Credence's body as he moves. It’s hard to tell, in the half-light streaming in from the window, but he seems to be shrinking further against the wall, as if waiting for the fallout of what he’s just said.

August fists his hands into the sheets, counts slowly down from ten, then pushes himself up. He wishes he could take a step back, put some more distance between himself and Credence so that the younger man might realize he means no harm, but he can’t, unless he leaves the room. He sits with his back to his own wall instead, arms crossed tight against his chest to stop himself from fidgeting. "So you're telling me she kept beating you, a child - and a child she was supposed to take care of at that - and I'm supposed to believe you deserved all of it? From start to finish?"

There is no answer to that, but it's more telling than anything else.

_Alright_ , August thinks. _Alright_.

"Credence" he begins "pardon my language, but that’s a cartload of horseshit."

"But-"

"No buts. Your- your Ma, she had no right to lay hand on you. Not even once." It's the kind of thing he wishes someone had told him, in all those years in foster care, instead of leaving him to fantasize about a mystical land his only parent had basically kicked him out of so that he might have had a chance at escaping the Dark Curse. It's as much for his benefit as it is for Credence's, and it feels liberating, or the closest to liberating it can get without involving a therapist (his former conscience not included). "Whatever sins she thought you were committing, whatever grudge she held against witches- you were a child. You deserved much more than what she put you through.”

Credence’s disbelief is palpable enough, even if he remains silent. August sighs. “Look, I know you must think I don’t know what I’m talking about, but…I made some mistakes when I was younger, too. Nothing big, the real trouble came in years later, but the punishment hardly ever fit the crime. Unless you count locking a little boy up behind bars and bewitching him for being too trusting a fair solution.”

“That’s…that’s horrible. Why would they do that?”

“The same reason your mother acted the way she did. Some people feel good knowing there’s someone smaller than them who they can crush underfoot.” August smiles sadly, though the other can’t see it. “My point is, I get it. What a well-adjusted adult would have counted as a kid’s mischief or, or learning the ropes, it got me slapped across my face with bad karma, and you mistreated by someone you should have been able to trust. And as for what you did after…I meant what I said. We can’t explain what brought you here yet, but I’m gonna go out on a limb and say there must be a reason. You can start a new life here. You need never go back, if you don’t want to.”

Seconds tick by as Credence seem to mull over his words. Then he says, in so low a whisper August almost misses it entirely: “You sound like him.”

“Him who?”

“Mr Graves. At least I think it was him, it was- it was a long time ago. He didn’t know about the magic, but he said he would find a way to get me out of there. I don’t know if he was serious or if he just wanted to make me feel better, but I was grateful to him all the same. For trying, at least.”

And there he is again, the elusive Mr Graves. The man is still a mystery, a ghost in all but name, invisible and yet, it seems, lurking at the back of Credence’s mind at all times. It would be easy to hijack the conversation, force it to detour into safer lands, but hardly any topics are safe to brooch where Credence is concerned, and it’s better he faces it here, with no prying eyes on him, than the next time Grindelwald comes prancing around.

And, well. August can’t deny he’s curious to learn more about this wizard whose face Grindelwald deemed important enough to wear, who Tina and Credence both seem to hold in great esteem. He doesn’t even know what Graves looks like, except maybe for the glimpse Grindelwald himself let them see at the mines, and August can’t be sure it was even Graves to begin with – he can only speculate, connect the dots basing on Credence’s wild reaction at the sight of him transformed.

“He seems a nice man” he says finally, neutrally, when he realizes Credence is still waiting for a reply. “If he’s in charge of the likes of Miss Goldstein, he must be a force to be reckoned with.”

“I wouldn’t know. He didn’t talk much about himself. He always asked about my day, but he only ever told me of his job. And magic. He said he couldn’t do much out in the open, but he kept showing me magic. Little things. He healed my hands – I should have noticed, when the other man took his place, Mr Graves always made sure to get rid of all the welts before he left. And he burned my mother’s flyers, once. To make me laugh.”

August frowns. There’s something he can’t quite put his fingers on behind Credence’s words, a longing wistfulness that should have no place in a tale he’d supposed would only bring back bad memories. So either he’s started hearing things that aren’t there, or… “Was he handsome?” He probes lightly, carefully, testing the waters.

Credence’s stammer is nothing new, but there’s a novelty to it all the same, in the way he sounds more flustered than scared. “I…Well, I suppose he was, yes. He was always clean-shaven, and well-dressed, too. My sister, Chastity, she saw him a couple times – she said he must come from money, with the fancy clothes he wore. She thought he must be a businessman. Modesty thought he might be a movie star, and he had…he had the looks for it, for sure.”

Handsome, rich and broodingly mysterious, then. No wonder Credence sounds so besotted – August can only picture him as a detective straight out of film noir, standing in a corner with his hat tipped down to shadow his eyes. He’s starting to feel a bit infatuated himself, if he’s being honest.

“Credence” he asks, only slightly teasing “did you…were you in _love_ with him?”

He almost instantly regrets it, because for all the ease they’ve brought to the conversation, this is no slumber party, and they’re not schoolchildren nagging at each other in the dark. Credence does not freeze in discomfort, but he’s silent for a long while as he pushes himself up to a sitting position that mirrors August’s.

“My mother told me it was a sin” he says in the end, soberly.

“We’ve gathered that your mother was wrong on many accounts. I’ve been all around the world and I can assure you that there are greater sins you might commit than looking at a man and thinking you would like to know him better. But still, I’m sorry I asked. I’ve been told I’ve got a penchant for sticking my nose in other people’s business. You don’t have to tell me anything.”

“I want to, though” Credence whispers. “It’s just…I don’t know if I have the words.”

His voice catches at the end of the sentence, but August waits patiently for him to continue, and eventually the young man seems to collect himself and begins to speak again.

“He was…he was good to me. Nobody’d ever treated me like that before. I thought I just wanted him to take me away, at first, but at some point I realized I just wanted to see _him_ more. But now I don’t know how much of it he really did do, and which of the things I remember were Grindelwald’s work, and I just- I just don’t know. Sometimes I think I was a fool, that it was just a foolish dream.”

“Hey” August says softly, “don’t beat yourself up. Navigating a relationship is already hard enough without people switching faces left and right.”

Credence actually snorts out a laugh at that – it’s a wet, hiccupping sound, but it’s there, and it warms August’s heart to hear it. “Still. He must have thought me so stupid, so naïve – he was older than me, and way more experienced. And he had _magic_. I can’t compare to that.”

“Oh, don’t worry, magic isn’t as wonderful as some people would paint it to be. _I_ was a product of magic, and all I got out of it was grown men taking advantage of me.” Then August’s mind catches up with the rest of Credence’s words, and it screeches to a halt, dumbfounded. “Wait, how old is this man again?”

“A few years older than you, maybe? I’m sorry, I don’t know for sure. I never asked.”

Not only August struggles when it comes to calculating his own age – going back and forth between childhood and maturity will do that to a man, and he’s never been the most adept at math to begin with – but the added knowledge leaves him at loss for words. Credence is an adult, but certainly still young; surely, one would have expected him to fall for someone closer to his own age.

Then he remembers when he would have done if, in his twenties, a gorgeous man twice his age had begun nursing his wounds in body and soul and promised to steal him away from his bleak, tormented life, and thinks _Yeah, alright, that’s fair_. “Well, you know what they say about dating older people – by the time you meet them, they’ve done all their growing on their own. You might have something to thank him for, when you see him next.”

“Do you think I will? It’s just- Miss Goldstein says there has been no trace of him in months. What if he’s…” Credence trails off, but it’s clear what he means.

“Look, if there’s one thing I learned here, it’s that you can’t count anyone for dead until you see the body, and even then you must take it with a grain of salt. Don’t give up on hoping. It might me your best weapon when it comes to finding your Mr Graves.”

“Do you truly believe that?”

“I do. Lying to you is the last thing on my mind – or lying in general, as it stands. And you shouldn’t doubt the words of someone older and wiser than you.”

“The way you speak, you always sound as though you were ancient” Credence protests, but there’s no animosity to it, rather a sense of newfound familiarity at the raising bait. “Is this a fairy tale thing, too? Are you secretly centuries old?”

_I might, considering I don’t remember how much time I spent on that bloody island._ “No, it’s just that being old is a state of mind, Credence. My knees creak when I stand up, kids no longer think I’m cool and I like watching _L’Eredità_ with my father when he manages to tune in on international TV channels. I’m old inside, that’s all.”

“You’re not making any sense” Credence mutters, but then he yawns, jaw-crackingly loud.

August smiles. “I think we should try and get some sleep. Emma might yet start banging on the wall if we don’t shut up anytime soon.”

“Will she really?”

“Nah, but still, I don’t want to risk it. And you need the sleep, as do I. Settle down – this is the safest place you can be.”

“Alright.” The wariness is still there, but only barely, and August can respect that, he truly can. He knows what it means, to go your whole life without ever feeling safe. It’s not something one can put down at once and forget about. Small steps are the only way out.

Credence lays back down, yawning again, and August imitates him, stretching out with his hands under his head. It’s so quiet he can hear the leaves rustling on the trees outside, tugged around by the wind, and sound soothes him somehow, lulling him halfway to sleep.

And then, faintly, he catches- “August?”

“Yeah?”

“Thank you.”

August’s grin widens. “You’re welcome, Credence. You’re very welcome.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter was supposed to be _short_ . But alas, I got carried away by the need to mention the one character I miss the most in this godforsaken series.  
> Also this fic is nothing but a compilation of easter eggs for my friend AND a mean to make Geppetto more believably Italian. He WILL complain about the weather while he watches Unomattina and you WILL like it, fuckers.  
> Love you all! See you soon!


	8. Only me and my disgrace

August wakes to rain, pit-pattering noisily against the windowpane.

It's only a slight drizzle, but it's bound to get worse, judging by how menacing the dark clouds overhead look. He watches the rivulets of water race each other down the glass, blinking away sleep, until the sounds of people moving downstairs reminds him of where he is and of the events of the day prior, snapping him out of his reverie.

Right. There's work to do.

Credence is still deep into slumber, and doesn't stir when August stumbles past him to get to the bathroom. He sleeps on his side, the bedsheets tangled around his legs, curled on himself as though trying to make himself as small a target even in sleep. His hands are balled into fists and there's a frown on his face, but his sleep doesn't seem particularly troubled otherwise, and there was no sound escaping his lips in the night, no sign of nightmares plaguing him.

It's a relief, but it makes August wonder, too, if this might not be a common occurrence - if this might be the first time in a while that he's been able to rest properly. The timeline is messy at best, but based on what Tina said, then Credence must have spent at least two or three days fending for himself after having pretty much torn a city apart. It doesn't make for a pretty picture, the pain and guilt and loneliness all jumbled together and walking by his side. It's a wonder if he even slept at all.

August spends a long minute looking at him, at the bottom end of an old scar peeking out of the faded t-shirt and curling around his arm, then shakes his head and heads downstairs, still lost in thought.

Henry's sitting at the kitchen table when he walks into the room, scrolling down his phone as he eats, a plate heaped with food before him. He looks up when he hears footsteps approaching, and then gives August a wicked little grin, raising an half-eaten muffin at him in mock-salute. "Finally. I thought I'd have to come wake you myself."

August grins in response, but then he reels back in surprise as he takes in the rest of the kitchen, and doesn't get a chance to reply.

There are more muffins sitting on a tray on the counter, freshly made, judging by the smell that permeates the whole room. There's no doubt on who might have made them - flour still stains Jacob's clothes, even as he bends over something else cooking on the stove, his jacket discarded and his shirtsleeves rolled up. Beside him, a load of dirty dishes is washing itself in the sink, plates and cutlery floating up of their own accord to be rinsed with soapy water. Queenie barely spares them a glance now and then, too engrossed in the pile of newspapers and magazines that she's currently skimming over.

"I see you've been keeping busy" August comments, still a bit shaken, as he sits down.

Jacob turns around, offering an apologetic smile. "We had some time to kill after the others left. We didn't want to wake the boy - and you, by consequence - too early, and, well. I like baking. I didn't think Sheriff Swan would mind."

"She won't" Henry reassures him around a mouthful of muffin. "These are great, Mr Kowalski. I bet your bakery's going to be a success."

Jacob positively beams at him, and then he turns back to August. "Serve yourself, Mr Booth. There's coffee, if you want some. Young Henry here showed me how to use the coffee machine."

"Just August" he answers mechanically, because really, he's tired of repeating the same thing over and over. He can't even pull the "please, Mr Booth is my father" card out, because technically, his father is _not_. "But thank you. I think I'll take you up on that offer."

"So," he reprises, once there's enough caffeine in his body to sustain him "where are Emma and the rest? And what are you doing here?"

"Mom wanted me somewhere safe with someone who knew how to use magic." Henry pulls a face, making it clear what he thinks of these precautions. "It was either here or with Grandpa, and no offense to Gideon, but you don't scream nearly as much as him. And Mom - well, the _other_ mom, she left with Mr Scamander and Miss Goldstein. Said they had some stuff to sort out before the meeting at the town hall."

"Right. When's the rendezvous for that?"

The boy looks back at his phone. "A hour and a half, give or take?"

August nods. Good. Then there's no rush for them to pull Credence out of bed. He turns to Queenie, who's now making her way through an old copy of the Storybrooke Daily Mirror. "And you? What do you think of our time's literary prowess?"

She smiles placidly at him. "I'm just trying to fill the gaps, hon. It's hard keeping up the pace with other people's minds when you only know a tenth of what they're thinking about. It's fascinating, all the stuff one can learn in the papers if they know where to look. "

Unbidden, his mind goes to all the sorts of unsavory things he'd rather she not learn, things that would no doubt curb her burbling enthusiasm. August realizes his mistake a heartbeat later, and fumbles to direct his thoughts elsewhere, but Queenie's smile only widens, and she pats his hand amiably. "Aw, don't worry. I can fend for myself. That was sweet, though."

Henry snickers, and August is tempted to flick a piece of bread at his head, just to make a show of stellar maturity, but he hears footsteps approaching before he can so much as raise his hand. He turns around, just in time to see the kitchen door crack open and Credence poke his head in, albeit with some hesitation.

There's a brief pause where he stares uncomprehendingly at them all, especially at the self-cleaning dishes, who have now started filing themself in the drying rack in neat order. Then Queenie gets up, her grin not faltering even for a second, and closes the distance between them, slipping her arm in the crook of his. "Good morning! Don't worry, you didn't miss anything important. And- oh, don't be silly, this is not a bother for anyone. Why don't you sit down and have some breakfast? There’s milk in the fridge, I believe, if you don’t like coffee.”

Credence looks at her in bewilderment, as though she’d just sprouted a second head between her shoulder. It’s clear he doesn’t know what to make of her soft smile, of the way she clings to him as though they were longtime friends, and August holds his breath, waiting for the next move.

But then Credence lets himself be tugged towards the table, gently, like a lost child, and August relaxes in his chair, nods in greeting at the boy as he turns back to his own breakfast.

Somehow, he has a good feeling about how the day is going to go.

There is, as August learns during their meal, a way for magical people to travel, even in that far away New York that might or might not be in an entirely different world.

There’s a way for non-magical people to tag along, too, and Queenie differentiates them as Apparition and Side-Along Apparition, tracing the movement with her hands in the air, under Jacob’s besotted gaze and their own, perplexed ones.

“Great” Henry comments, at the end. “So, can we try it?”

Queenie shakes her head. “I’m afraid not. I don’t know your world well enough, and I’d have to risk messing it up while dragging all four of you boys along. It’s best if we walk. Besides, I want to see more of this Storybrooke of yours, before Grindelwald tries something nasty.”

August privately agrees – not so much regarding Storybrooke’s sightseeing potential, because for all that the town’s a wonder even wonder grows stale after a while, but that’s not the matter at hand. It’s just that…well, he won’t pride himself of being an expert on magic, but it’s easy to see how many things might go wrong, even just at first glance. Who knows what would happen, if this Apparition were to take them out of city boundaries by mistake. The threat of getting soaked by rain pales by comparison.

Which reminds August – he climbs back upstairs as Queenie shows everyone else the impalpable umbrella she can conjure over their heads, and returns holding his leather jacket under one arm. It’s not hard to find; Credence hung it on a peg before showering, right behind the bathroom door, with the same neatness the boy seems to reserve to everything he wears, as though wrinkles were a punishable offence.

Maybe they used to be, in his old life. August doesn’t want to dig into it any deeper that he already has.

He shakes the jacket out, once they’re about to leave, and offers it back to the younger man nonchalantly, trying not to make a big deal out of it. Nevertheless, Credence stops dead in his tracks when he sees it, eyes as big as saucers, and takes a step back almost by reflex. “What-“

August shrugs. “You’ll catch your death if you go out wearing just that. And I know I leave it in good hands.”

“But- it’s yours. And- won’t you be cold?”

“Right now you need it more than I do. Besides, I’ll swing by my house while we’re on our way to the town hall. I need to pack an overnight bag already, a spare jacket more won’t make any difference.”

In truth, what’s left of his father’s home is not directly on their path, but August chooses to make that particular detour alone. He won’t take Credence back to the remains of his past mistakes, if he can avoid it.

And he doesn’t feel particularly guilty in leaving the boy alone, either. Henry has been trying to engage him in conversation almost non-stop, and while Credence still seems wary of being on the receiving end of so much attention, it’s clear that some of his reservations are already melting. August’s not surprised Henry, of all people, were the one to drag him out of his shell – ever since the days of the first curse, Emma and Regina’s son has always had the enthusiasm and cunning needed to influence even the most reticent with his optimism. Present company included.

So, it’s not Credence, engrossed despite himself in what the teenager is telling him, who tries to stop August before he leaves. Instead, it’s Jacob who steps briefly out of Queenie’s magical cover, frowning. “Are you sure you don’t want us to come with you, lad? Mayor Mills warned us not to go around alone.”

August waves him off without a second though. “I’ll be fine. I’ll catch up with you in a moment. That is, unless Henry gets you all lost on the way there.”

Henry rolls his eyes. “As if. I’ll have you know I’ve been living here since I was a little kid, old man.”

“Well, technically, so have I. Brat.”

The boy makes a rude gesture as he leads the others away, one that would leave Regina scandalized and Emma begrudgingly proud, and August is still laughing when he enters his house, a couple minutes later.

It’s colder than it ought to be, but then again it’s hard to keep warmth inside when half a wall has been blasted away, magical reinforcements and all. August doesn’t linger anymore than necessary once he’s shut the front door behind his back, instead quickly stomping his feet on the mat as not to drag mud around the floor and starting his search in the other rooms of the house.

He’s gathered a couple changes of clothes and the few toiletries he needs (and isn’t he glad he’s still got enough residual knowledge from his years of travelling to know how to pack fast and light) and is on the haunt for his old backpack when he notices the man standing in the middle of the kitchen.

August stops, cold dread settling in his chest. It’s hard to make out much about the stranger - he’s facing the wide crack in the wall, a shadowed silhouette against the stretch of stormy sky visible in the gap, trailing a finger on the grimy bricks left uncovered by Credence’s crisis – but the sheen of his white hair is unmistakeable, and it screams danger from a mile away, as does the man’s casual, relaxed stance, so familiar and yet so terrifying.

August’s thoughts screech to a halt as he tries to figure out a way to leave. He knows that if he panics, he’s done for, so he fights to keep his breath level as he starts going back the way he came from, slowly, slowly, making as little noise as possible. He’d be no match in a magical fight, but if he can just reach Regina, or even Queenie…

“I wouldn’t do that, if I were you” a steady, vaguely accented voice tells him, and so he has no choice but to freeze on the spot as Grindelwald turns around, a bemused smile on his face.

He’s wearing a new suit, August notices numbly. It’s hard to determine whether he’s conjured it out of thin air or if he’s found the time to raid Rumpelstiltskin’s wardrobe since their last meeting, but it makes all the difference in the way he presents himself. He seems calmer, in control, and though he takes the time to draw his wand out of his sleeve with a flourish, he moves towards August with grandiosely open arms, as though they were old friends.

“I remember you” Grindelwald says softly as he steps closer. “You were the one to shield Credence, at the mine. I want to thank you for that. That boy has a great future before him, if he follows the right path. It would, ah, _sadden_ me if anything were to befall him.”

They’re close enough that August could sock him directly in the face if he so wished, but he can’t – he can’t _move_. It’s as though his feet were glued to the floorboards, and to his great horror he can’t even lift a finger, nevermind a whole arm.

“There is some magic to you.” Grindelwald’s voice has lowered to a whisper, and it would be soothing, tantalizing even, if it were not for the cold streak running through every word. “Not much, but…You must be familiar with it, at least. I wonder…”

He flicks his wand, mouth pressed in a thin line. The pile of clothes drop from August’s hands, and he follows suit, collapsing to the ground at what feels like a slowed down pace. He doesn’t even notice he’s falling until his knees are hitting the floor, the pain shooting through his limbs too great for him to feel anything else.

It’s nothing short of excruciating. It feels as though something were trying to claw its way out of his body, tearing at live flesh with tooth and nail, not stopping until it’s taken down everything in its wake. The pain comes in waves, running up August’s arms and down his legs, pumping into his brain until all he sees are flashes of black and white covering his entire field of vision. It almost reminds him of the needling sensation his body turning back into wood had, relentless and neverending, and the comparison very nearly makes him want to peel off his skin so that the feeling might break out and leave, please, by the gods, _leave_ -

And then it’s gone, just as fast as it came. August finds himself belly down on the dusty floor of his father’s hallway, panting as though he’d just run a marathon. His head spins so badly he struggles to raise it, so he merely turns it to the side, looking up at Grindelwald with one eye only.

The wizard doesn’t seem particularly impressed by his performance. He raises an eyebrow and says, evenly: “Disappointing, but then again, I shouldn’t be surprised. Your Mother Superior…from the way her sisters clustered around her, I would have thought her more powerful, but she lacked the strength they asked of her. It’s no wonder she hasn’t left much in you to work with.”

August can feel blood welling in his mouth. He must have bitten his tongue while he was convulsing on the ground. Its coppery taste very nearly makes him retch, but he won’t give Grindelwald the satisfaction, so he just spits it out, though the thin red line drooling down his chin probably doesn’t have much of an effect on the man. “Fuck off” he manages to grit out, ignoring the dull ache in the back of his skull.

Grindelwald sighs. “I fear this is goodbye, Mr Pinocchio.”

He straightens up. He raises his wand again.

And then, everything goes black.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I feel kinda guilty posting it today because xxxpokelad has been the most amazing human being in the last couple of days and this feels like a poor payback...but then again, maybe it fits our mood for the day better than I might think akjdhjsdkhjf  
> Thank you to everyone who's reading this! Stay safe and stay hydrated!


	9. See it fall, child of war

_Wait_ , August thinks, the question shooting through the haze in his brain, _how come I’m not dead yet?_

He blinks, trying to focus, and rolls on his back to see the scene for himself.

The black cloud steadily filling the room has nothing to do with the probable concussion Grindelwald’s spell has caused him. In fact, it’s so real August could almost touch it, if he had the energy to raise a hand. The electricity in it is making the hair on the back of his neck stand up, and it buzzles and crackles as the smoke surrounds Grindelwald himself, hiding him from view.

August has never seen Credence’s powers in full swing, but he’s willing to put money on this being a fair show of them.

He attempts to push himself upright, but it’s a struggle to even breathe properly – the Obscurus, if that is indeed its name, seems to be sucking the room dry of all energy, like a miniature black hole. August barely manages to sit up before a strong arm wraps around his body and pulls him up, a voice talking urgently in his ear.

“There you are- can you walk, we have to leave now-“

Jacob. It’s Jacob Kowalski, come to his rescue, and August has never been gladder to see anyone in his life. The man might not have an ounce of magic in his body, but his presence is steadying enough that August finds himself able to react properly, shaking his head even though the movement makes him feel dizzy almost instantly. “We can’t leave” he spits out, barely audible over Credence’s angry, ominous howling. It’s hard to see Grindelwald at this point, though it’s likely that some of the flashing lights coming from inside the black cocoon must be his doing. “We can’t, Credence is _right there_ -“

A white bolt of lightning shoots past them, followed by another, and then, as if on cue, two red ones. August turns to see Emma, Regina and both Goldstein sisters standing at the door, the latter two with their wands raised and all four with grim looks on their faces. They march inside, sending a steady array of spells towards Grindelwald’s general direction, and if August were in his place he’d have abandoned theatre and puppets, as his father might say, and started running for his life. It’s truly a sight to behold.

“See? They’ve got it well in hand” Jacob says, half tugging him away and half pushing him along towards the door. “Now let’s _go_.”

But it’s too late. There’s a hissing sound – it’s hard to determine whether it came from Grindelwald or Credence, and August’s heart jumps in his throat before he can help it – and then a loud _pop_ , like that of a balloon bursting. The four women keep storming the scene with magical attacks for a few moments, but then Queenie stops, though her fingers are still wrapped tightly around her wand, and she raises her free hand, gesturing wildly until Tina takes notice of it.

The elder Goldstein sister hesitates, but then she nods, and turns to Emma and Regina, her voice carrying loud and clear even over the deafening noise they’re making. “Stop! He’s gone!”

The whirlwind of action abates. The Obscurus gathers itself together, still humming threateningly, and retreats to a corner of the ceiling, revealing the spot where Grindelwald was standing, only a minute or so ago.

A spot that is now noticeably empty, devoid of any wannabe evil wizard.

August releases a breath he hadn’t realized to be holding and collapses, sitting down against a wall as his legs give out, the adrenaline that had propelled him forward rushing out of him all at once. Thankfully, Jacob lets him go, only keeping a tight grip on his arm as to prevent him from falling too fast and banging his head against the wall.

Emma is at their side in a moment, as the rest of the groups appears to be scanning their surrounding, checking for lingering threats. Some of the debris that had settled after the first explosion is floating around again, blown away by their movements like a miniature sandstorm, and it clings to her hair and face, but she wipes it off her cheeks absentmindedly, her eyes darting from him to the still open door. “Are you okay?” She asks, breathlessly.

“Ask me in a couple minutes” August replies, then grimaces at the stinging feeling on his tongue. Right. The bite. He’d almost forgotten, what with everything else going on around him.

Her shoulders slump in relief, briefly, and then her customary scowl his back, as though it had never left. It’s a surprisingly welcome sight, after having risked magical combustion for the third time in two days. “I thought I’d made it clear that you’re not allowed to get yourself killed again.”

“Why are you blaming me instead of the homicidal maniac hiding in my house?” August rolls his eyes, but he lacks the energy even for banter. He feels the way he supposes wet clothes must feel once they’ve left the washing machine, after having been tossed around at will and wrung out of the last drop of water.

“The coast is clear” Regina announces, dragging their attention back to the matter at hand. “Except for your friend up there, that is.”

She rounds up on the Obscurus, and then adds, in a tone of voice August suspects Henry might have heard more than once: “Young man, I think you should come down right this second, before someone decides to attack _you_ instead.”

“We’re not mad at you, kid” Emma interjects diplomatically, which is probably a good call – less of a risk of the reprimands reminding Credence of his adoptive mother, at least. “We’re grateful that you saved August. But it’ll be easier for everyone to talk if you’re down here with us.”

She sneaks a glance at August, and he finds himself nodding along with her words. He supposes he ought, since they do need him in a solid shape again, and apparently he’s now the acting voice of reason when it comes to dealing with the boy.

The prospect is terrifying, considering he’s not what anyone sane would deem a good example for impressionable young folks. Perhaps, he realizes with a start, this is how Jiminy felt, all those years ago, with a pint-sized wooden dumbass trailing after him and falling in every trap the world had to offer.

Somehow, _that_ thought manages to be even less reassuring than the first.

“’S true, Credence” he says, waving those considerations away. Now is not the time. “Grindelwald left. We’re as safe as we can be.”

He’s met with silence, which is unexpected in its own right, since the Obscurus hasn’t been quiet a single second since it barged into the scene. It coils tighter around himself, its wafts of smoke shifting and rolling, as if it were pondering over its choices.

Then, suddenly, it plunges downwards, with enough force to prompt Tina to raise her wand again. It stops a mere inch or so from the floor, and starts coiling tighter and tighter around itself, forming a vaguely humanoid shape, legs and torso and arms and-

The black cloud vanishes. In its place stands Credence, pale as a ghost and looking vaguely sick, but whole and standing on his own two feet.

August allows himself a small grin. “There you go. Good job.”

Credence won’t meet anyone’s eyes, but he shuffles forward nonetheless, coming to crouch beside August along with Emma. “Are you alright?” He asks, haltingly.

“Knocking on wood, I’ll be in a moment” August replies, not missing Emma’s sharp intake of breath, as though she were praying God to grant her patience or at least a life without atrocious puns.

If anything, it means things have gone back to normal, so he continues, making no sign of having noticed: “How did you know I was in trouble, anyway?”

“Jacob had a bad feeling about you going off alone” Queenie says, drawing close to touch the other man’s shoulder. “And I could feel another mind close to you, when I stopped to listen. At first I thought it was your father, since you mentioned you live with him, but that mind had its walls raised too wall. I doubted that your father might know Occlumency.”

“Occlu…what?”

“The ability to stop someone from reading your thoughts. It takes years of training, even for wizards as talented as Grindelwald. We sounded the alarm, but Credence swept in before backup could arrive.”

Regina scoffs. “As if he _needed_ any kind of backup. If that coward hadn’t left, I wager the kid could have easily made minced meat out of him.”

“I didn’t” Credence says, almost defensively. “I couldn’t. He had this…bubble, around himself. I only managed to break it open once, and then Miss Goldstein hit him with a spell. Tina, that is. And he vanished right after, so I couldn’t reach him on my own.”

“That’s an impressive feat in and of itself” Tina reassures him. “That man has more tricks up his sleeve than a lifetime gambler.”

“In any case, you didn’t get here a moment too soon.” If it were anyone else hovering beside him after having saved his life, August would give them an impressive bear hug, at the very least, but as Credence seems still quite skittish about physical contact, he limits himself to smiling up at the boy. “Grindelwald was right about to get rid of me.”

“What was he even doing here, of all places?” Regina asks.

“I don’t know. He seemed to be looking for confirmation for something. Or he just wanted a dramatic entrance, who knows. But- Emma, listen, we have to check up on Blue. He said something about her, and it was- it was too specific to be a trick.”

“Blue?” Emma frowns. “Are you certain?”

“Who’s Blue?” Jacob asks, visibly confused.

“Head fairy of this place” Regina cuts in. “Major pain in the ass. I’ll explain later. What about her?”

“He talked as if he’d met her. Her, and the rest of fairies. He talked about her powers, and he…he knew who I was before. You know no one ever calls me Pinocchio anymore, besides my father and Blue. I know she can hold her own, especially if she wasn’t alone, but…”

“Alright.” Emma seems to take a steadying breath, then she gets up, rummaging in her pockets for her phone. “I’ll ask my father to take some of the others and go up to the convent, see if something’s amiss. In the meantime, though, let’s get out of here. This place stinks.”

“Careful, my father might take offense.”

“As if that’s going to be my biggest problem, once he learns his precious little boy has almost died on my watch. Again.”

Emma’s supposition is, unfortunately, not far from the truth.

They make quite the entrance in the town hall, neatly lined up like a travelling bestiary. August is still leaning heavily against Jacob – he’s not in pain, not exactly, but his muscles feel quite sore, as though he’d tried to bench press an army tank. Tina said that the most common method of torture in their world is something called _Cruciatus Curse_ , but that its effects aren’t supposed to last this long, so either it works differently on puppets or Grindelwald must have started getting innovative with his magic.

Great. Being subjected to experimental villainous spells is sure something that had been missing from his near-death experience bucket list.

Dozen of heads swivel around to look at them, all wearing looks of profound surprise. Well, all but Hook and Henry, who Queenie apparently sent running for help and who must have warned a few choice people about what was going on.

They both reach the group first, Hook reaching Emma’s side in a heartbeat while Henry runs headfirst towards Regina. August barely manages to register what a sweet picture they form before he registers his father descending on him like a vulture, Jiminy hot on his heels.

_Here we go_ , he thinks, groaning in despair.

“August, what happened? Are you hurt?” Geppetto exclaims, getting a hold of his son’s free arm. Jiminy, ever the practical one, thankfully doesn’t say anything, but produces a chair on which August can gratefully slump on.

“I’m fine, Papa” he replies, hoping he looks the part. Queenie mended his tongue with a swirl of her wand, claiming herself to be better at healing spells than her sister, but he’s not sure he’s managed to rinse the blood off his chin completely, or out of his mouth, for that matter. And no doubt he must appear weak and washed up like a ghost under the neon lights, if how he feels is of any indication.

More than anything, it’s as if he were repeating some lines he’s already said _ad nauseam_. It’s barely been 24 hours since the last accident, dammit, it must look like a pattern from an outside point of view.

Credence is still hovering awkwardly beside him, looking ready to put himself between what to him must appear like threats to August’s wellbeing and August himself. Unsatisfied with the explanations he’s not getting, Geppetto redirects his fury on the boy, and to the rest of the group at large. “And who are you lot? Did you have anything to do with this?”

“Papa, please” August mutters, rubbing a hand down his face. “Credence just saved my life. Cut him some slack, will you?”

“And what, pray tell, did you need saving from?”

“You’ll understand in a moment. There’s a lot of explaining to do.” August motions at Credence to look down, then inclines his head towards the two men, once he’s got the boy’s attention. “Credence, this is my father. And that’s Ji- Archie. Dr Archie Hopper. Parent number two, if you will. For the woman of the house and vaguely Christian mother figure, you’ll have to wait until we learn what’s become of Blue.”

“I thought I’d asked you to stop introducing me like that” Jiminy mutters tiredly, laying a hand on top of August’s head. The touch is gentle, almost comforting, but August knows too well what it’s recondite meaning is _. I’m here if you need help_ , it says, _but if you don’t stop acting like a brat I’ll smack you over the head with my umbrella._

Not that August can blame him for it. At all.

Jiminy’s fingers, though, still on his hair only a few moments later. “Wait, what do you mean? What _happened_ to Blue?”

August opens his mouth to answer, hoping he’ll manage not to send anyone in a panic, but then the screech of a microphone cuts him off. They turn as one to see Regina standing in the middle of the stage, Emma and the Goldstein girls by her side. Newt is nowhere to be seen, and Jacob has remained where he was, away from the spotlight. As for Credence…

The young man has done an admirable show of perseverance, not retreating into the shadows at the back of the room. There’s still a tinge of unease in his eyes as he scans the rows of people sitting around them, but August feels a momentary swell of pride all the same at the way he straightens his spine and stays rooted on the spot, a hand clutching the back of the chair.

“I’d drafted a reassuring speech, but as the matter has become more urgent, I’m afraid I will have to improvise” Regina begins. “As most of you might already know, a dangerous individual has managed to enter our town from another world. Yes, again. No, as far as we know he isn’t related to anyone residing in Storybrooke, but we’re not excluding that option.”

“His name is Gellert Grindelwald” Emma continues. “He’s capable of using magic, and he has already done so within the town line, as many must have witnessed at the mines. He’s also been found lurking around Marco’s house, and he attacked August no later than this morning.”

Once more stuck under the scrutiny of half the town’s population, August raises a hand in an awkward half-wave, half-confirmation that he’s, in fact, not dead. His father looks properly horrified, and judging by the way Jiminy’s hand has shifted to the back of his neck, gripping tightly, the doctor must not be faring much better.

“We don’t know exactly what he’s looking for, or what his motivations are, but we’re working on stopping him before he can execute whatever plan he has. We’re not alone in this – some people of Grindelwald’s world are here to help us catch him. Tina and Queenie Goldstein are here with me, and you can see Jacob Kowalski and Credence back there. All of them beside Mr Kowalski can use magic, so as you can see we’re not completely defenseless. Another wizard on our side, Newt Scamander, is currently with Prince Charming at the convent to check on the fairies, since we suspect Grindelwald might have paid them a visit sometime before we came here.”

Emma’s phone rings, cutting her off with a cheerful sound of trumpets and then the low croon of a woman singing about her scandalous summer love in a foreign language. August feels heat creep on his cheeks and up his neck – he was the one to pick that tune, during one of those nights where he and Emma couldn’t do much but act like fools to keep their nightmares at bay, but now it sounds like a cruel joke, blasting loud and clear in such an occasion.

“Speak of the devil” Emma says darkly. “Excuse me.”

She swiftly climbs down the stage and walks out of the room as she answers the phone. August and Credence exchange a glance, and then the boy offers him an arm without saying a word, helping him stand upright as Jacob falls into step with them.

They follow Emma at a much more sedate pace, even though the effects of the spell are finally receding from August’s body, but when they reach the outside of the building the phone is still pressed against her ear. She’s listening intently to the person on the other end of the line, her frown deepening by the second, and August grimaces – it doesn’t bode well for their attempts to keep Storybrooke from dissolving into blind panic.

“Okay” Emma says finally. “Yeah, alright. I’ll tell them. See if you can find anything else. Bye.”

She pockets her phone and sighs loudly, running a hand through he hair before she turns to the rest of the group.

“Bad news?” August asks, bracing himself for what he fears he’s about to hear.

“Worse. It was my father. They found the fairies in a frenzy – Grindelwald had locked them in with a spell they couldn’t break. Scamander had to bust them out with one of his own.”

“Are they okay? Is anyone hurt?”

“The ones there were left unharmed. But…Blue is gone, August. Grindelwald took her.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Why does a story need a plot? Isn't it enough to write 4k words of August being a fucking dumbass?  
> This somehow managed to be both completely unhinged AND full of pathos. The cases of life.  
> Thank you for reading! Stay safe!

**Author's Note:**

> Hello! You might be wondering what the hell is going on here.  
> For context, I binge watched all of OUAT during quarantine and got _very_ into it.The friend that this fic is gifted to had seen it as well, so we added it to our roster of stuff to make memes about, which included Fantastic Beasts among other things*. It was only natural that at some point we'd start mixing shit up for fun, and this idea sparked during a very chaotic convo at like, half past midnight. Don't blame me, it's not my fault.  
> This is a passion project, in the sense that there's not much of a plan behind it. If there's something I like, I'll put it in - this is my sandbox and I make the rules. It's set after the end of the first FB movie (with some amendments) and in that liminal space between the end of season 6 of OUAT and Henry's graduation and journey, which means August already went through all his transformations, Emma is married, everyone is happy, and season 7 has no reason to exist :) But don't focus too much on the timeline, we're playing loosely with canon here.  
> "Why August of all people?" HE'S MY FAVOURITE AND I LOVE HIM AND THIS IS THE FIRST FIC ABOUT HIM I MANAGE TO GET ON THE WAY AFTER LIKE FIVE ATTEMPTS  
> If you've already gotten this far, thank you for reading! We'll see where this hellfest goes.  
> *that might get thrown in as well at some point...or might already have been :^)


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